


Heroes vs. Monsters

by Bergen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dobby (Harry Potter) Lives, Domestic Violence, Good Draco Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Protective Harry Potter, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, mostly referenced & not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22901083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bergen/pseuds/Bergen
Summary: Buying the Hog’s Head probably wasn’t the best decision Harry ever made. He can’t cook. He doesn’t understand money. Also, his ex-girlfriend is much better at moving on than he is. His friends are more grown up than he is. His godson thinks he is boring. He feels like he’s letting the whole wizarding world down. And he’s got a damn birthday party to plan.What better moment for Draco bloody Malfoy to get dumped in the middle of his inn and promptly take up permanent residence in one of the Hog’s Head's guest rooms?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 57
Kudos: 623





	1. Grown-ups

Hermione shuffles into the Hog’s Head, shaking the snow out of her hair. Only a few tables in the inn are taken. Still better than the usual Wednesday afternoon, actually. Not that Harry would want to have more guests. She is pretty sure that he bought the Hog’s Head simply because he knew people rarely wanted to go there. Harry pretends to like people, but he really doesn’t.

She spots Harry behind the bar, and Teddy sitting in one of the barstools. The boy’s hair is brown with little strands of purple today, and his tongue is sticking out in concentration as he works vigorously on a drawing. Hermione approaches and raises a hand in greeting. “Hey there, Teddy. Hi Harry!”

Harry turns to her and nods back. “Hey, ‘Mione. Here for a butterbeer?”

“You know I can’t have beer right now, Harry!” Hermione says, with a meaningful pat on her belly. “Is Molly around?”

“Not at the moment. Your husband is upstairs.”

Hermione heaves herself into one of the barstools. “Your beard is coming in nicely.”

Harry chuckles as he rubs a hand across his chin. “I hope that’ll make it even easier for me to go out in public without anyone recognizing me.”

“For now, a big hat and scarf will do that trick for you. The snow is really quite horrible.”

Harry shrugs. “Certainly makes our soup sell faster.”

Hermione smiles. Harry couldn’t cook to save his life. More proof, if proof were needed, that he really didn’t buy the Hog’s Head because he wanted to go into the restaurant business so badly.

As if reading her thoughts, Harry says: “I’m might pick up a cooking class or something.”

“With Ron?” If Harry dislikes cooking, Ron loathes it. The only reason _he_ decided to jump aboard Harry’s crazy business plan was that he wanted to hang with his mate as much as possible. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Molly coming over at least once a week to sort out their bookkeeping, the place would fall apart.

“No, just me,” Harry says as he pours her a cup of herbal tea. “Ron has zero interest in learning to cook. Lucky you for marrying him.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione says, smiling. “He’s excellent at doing laundry, though. So I think I’ll keep him.”

“Have you been house hunting yet?”

“Not yet. We’ve been figuring out what we want to look for. A nice house to raise children in. I don’t know - a garden. With a tree I can hang a swing from.”

Harry shakes his head. “The two of you are such grown-ups.”

“We’re twenty-five years old, Harry,” Hermione reminds him with a smile. “We’re all grown-ups.”

“I don’t feel like a grown-up,” Harry confesses. “Not in the least.”

“You’re old,” Teddy chimes in. Harry chuckles.

Hermione turns to Teddy now and gives him a single pat on the head. “What are you drawing?”

Teddy points his pencil at the dark brown blob he has drawn. “Harry is fighting Bigfoot.”

Harry sneaks a peek at the drawing. “I’ve never fought Bigfoot.”

“No, but I’ve already made drawings about everything cool you’ve actually fought,” Teddy reasons. “So now I’m thinking up my own monsters.”

“Why don’t you draw me with my job right now?” Harry suggests, lifting the glass he is currently cleaning.

Teddy scrunches up his nose. “But your job right now is boring.”

“It’s… It’s not…” Harry splutters. “This job is _fascinating_. You should see some of the people who come through here.”

“Like who?” Teddy asks, seeming mildly more interested.

“See that man at the end of the bar? He owns thirteen cats.”

Teddy blinks at him a few times. “That _is_ interesting,” he says, before going right back to his drawing.

Harry is perfectly aware of the fact that his current job is anything but ‘cool’. He hasn’t been ‘cool’ in a while. On the one hand, that is exactly what he wants. To be away from people for a while and not draw any attention. On the other hand, he can’t help the constant feeling of guilt. He could be hunting criminals down right now, but instead he is getting people tea or coffee, or the occasional bowl of soup.

After finishing Hogwarts, he had entered the auror training program, because it felt like the only logical option. Expectations had been high. Journalists followed him around wherever he went, eager to learn how ‘the great Harry Potter’ would solve all crime for them. He only lasted a few years before he couldn’t take it anymore. Especially after he broke up with Ginny and, for a little while, felt like he was all alone in the world. Around the same period, the news reached him that Aberforth Dumbledore had died, and Harry only hesitated a little before purchasing the Hog’s Head inn and quitting the auror program.

At first, the press had been on him like vultures, coming up with the most ridiculous conspiracy theories to explain their hero’s sudden career switch. But after a year or two they realized that Harry’s life had become genuinely boring, and they lost interest in him. Harry has owned the Hog’s Head for five years now, and the last few years have been blissfully peaceful. But still, the fact that Teddy is now making up adventures about Harry’s life makes Harry feel inadequate, somehow. It reminds him that people were expecting so much more from him.

“This is what I want for my birthday,” Teddy says, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

Harry looks down at the kid, who is pointing at his own drawing. “Bigfoot?” He jokes. “You want bigfoot as a present? Wrapped up with a pretty little ribbon?”

“No,” Teddy says, giggling a little. “But you said my party should have a theme. So maybe the theme can be about fighting dragons, or vampires, or trolls…”

“Heroes versus monsters?” Hermione suggests.

Teddy nods vigorously and Harry sighs a little. That’s just great. Teddy’s birthday is coming up in a month. Harry has already had to move heaven and earth to convince Andromeda to give him another chance to organise Teddy’s birthday party, because his attempt from last year ended in a fiasco. Teddy had requested a quidditch party and Harry had arranged for a whole bunch of toy brooms for the kids to play with, which, well… may have resulted in several broken bones, one nasty concussion and a whole mob of angry parents.

And now he apparently has to spend the next month proving himself by organising a perfect birthday party with a theme that feels like it was chosen to personally offend him. _Heroes fighting Monsters; you know, Harry, like the stuff you used to do back when you were actually contributing to wizarding society instead of hiding away in a shabby pub?_

“I’ll get right on it,” he tells Teddy. And the way the kid’s eyes immediately light up makes Harry feel a little better about it all.

-

“How do you imagine a ‘Heroes versus Monsters’ birthday party should look?” He complains to Hermione later that evening, after Andromeda has picked Teddy up and taken him home with her. “What – am I supposed to get a dragon in here for the kids to ’fight’? That doesn’t sound like a recipe for disaster _at all_.”

“We’ll help you organize it, Harry,” Hermione promises him. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to throw him the birthday party of the century to prove some point. We can sit the kids down and have them make drawings. Teddy loves drawing.”

“Lame…” Harry informs her.

“Oh, stop moping, you misery guts,” Hermione says, with a fond but exasperated look. “It’ll be fine.”

Her frizzy hair glows when a sudden light shines into the pub from outside. Harry leans to the side to glance out the window. To his surprise, he spots a flying car with blazing headlights landing neatly outside the pub.

After the war, combining muggle technology with magic became a bit more socially acceptable. People felt that, by showing how open-minded they were about muggles, they sent out a clear message that they had been on the ‘good’ side during the war. Arthur Weasley, who used to get the side-eye for his strange muggle-fascination, now has offers pouring in from all over the country from wizards who want to buy the rights to his latest ideas and inventions. He usually rejects them, but he did sell his concept for flying cars a few years ago. Honestly, though, Harry has never heard of any wizards who prefer the method of travel over the floo, a portkey or apparition. In fact, the only car that Harry can ever remember landing right in front of his pub, is Arthur Weasley’s own Ford Prefect. Harry and Ron had bought him that car two years ago, finally making up for losing the Ford Anglia in their second year.

This car is something else, though. All dynamic lines and shiny surfaces, with wheels that light up with a soft blue glow. Even Harry, who has no interest in, and no knowledge about cars, knows that someone rich is about to enter his pub.

Compared to the car, the man who enters is surprisingly low-profile. Mister rich-guy looks forty-ish, has a short beard, is wearing a simple tracksuit, and is accompanied by… Harry squints his eyes, then lifts an arm and pokes Ron, who was just returning from the kitchen, in the ribs.

“Ouch – what?”

“Isn’t that… Draco Malfoy?”

Ron follows his gaze to the two men who have entered the pub. The younger one is unmistakably Malfoy. The same white-blond hair and cold grey eyes. Just a little taller and less hair gel. His clothes look different. And the way he moves is different too, somehow. Less rigid. The older man with the beard has put his hand on Malfoy’s back and is guiding him to a table near the widow where they sit down.

“Huh,” Ron says. “Still alive I see. Pity.”

Hermione cocks her head. “I thought he moved to Italy?”

They look on how the bearded man sidles closer to Draco and kisses him. Harry coughs uncomfortably and looks away. Ron, on the other hand, only stares harder. “Oh, _yuck_. Seriously, he’s dating that old fart?”

“He’s not _that_ old,” Hermione says. “I quite like the beard. And his car is huge.”

“Why don’t _you_ go date him, then?” Ron immediately challenges, and Hermione rolls her eyes.

“You know what it means when a guy has a big car, right?” Ron continues.

“That he’s rich?” Hermione asks in a dry voice.

“No, that he’s got a tiny-“

“I’ll go take their order, then,” Harry quickly breaks in. He rushes away.

“That’s just like Malfoy,” Ron grumbles as he watches Harry leave. “Marrying some rich sugar daddy. Spoiled, arrogant, stuck-up little snob.”

“Good to see you’re no longer cherishing any feelings of resentment,” Hermione jibes as she elegantly stirs sugar into her tea.

Ron ignores her. “Whatever he orders, I’m going to spit in it.”

Harry approaches the table where the couple is sitting and decides to take the friendly approach. “Evening. Snowing, huh?”

The man looks up. “Oh, yeah! Yes, it is.”

Draco looks up, too. His eyes widen in recognition and he quickly turns away, pointedly staring out the window and away from Harry, his shoulders tense.

“We were supposed to be at our holiday home hours ago,” the man continues, scratching his beard. “But the snow makes it hard to fly. And this one is hopeless behind the wheel.” He chuckles as he points his thumb at Malfoy, who flushes in embarrassment.

Harry smiles back, amused at the situation. The man seems friendly enough. He wonders how Malfoy got his paws on him. “Holiday. Pleasant. Nearly there, though?” He asks.

“Yeah. Maybe twenty minutes. I just really needed some coffee.”

“Do you want some soup, too?”

“No, just coffee please. Black.”

Harry’s eyes flash to Malfoy, who is still steadily ignoring him and has plastered a bored expression on his face. “For both of you?”

“Yeah, the same for him.”

Harry nods. As he walks off, he hears the man asking: “That guy looked at you weird. Do you know him?”

“Of course not, Linus…” he overhears Malfoy reply. He can barely supress an eyeroll.

“Two black coffees,” he tells Ron when he arrives back at the bar.

“Let me do it,” Ron says, standing up straighter. “Then I can spit in his.”

“Come on, Ron,” Harry says, batting his hands away and grabbing the coffee pot. “It’s been, what? Seven years?” He has to admit, even though Malfoy is clearly still a ponce, Harry doesn’t really feel that same enmity as he used to. Just a slight annoyance.

Ron waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah. You’re the forgive and forget-type. But I'm pretty good at holding a grudge. What did he say?”

Harry shrugs. “Nothing, he ignored me. The other guy ordered for him. He pretended like he didn’t know me.”

“ _Seriously_?” Ron turns to Hermione. “See what I mean?”

Harry pours two cups of coffee and lifts them up. “You know what? I’ll screw with him just a little, okay?”

He moves back to the table where Malfoy is sitting with his boyfriend, whose name apparently is Linus. He puts the cups down in front of each of them. “Two black coffees. There you go, sir. -- Draco.”

Malfoy freezes in his seat and stares up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Harry simply gives a polite smile and walks off again. He joins Ron behind the bar and smirks at him.

“Okay, yeah,” Ron admits. “His face was pretty funny.”

Hermione shakes her head, composedly.

“Back to more urgent problems,” Harry says, leaning on the bar. “Any more suggestions for a ‘Heroes vs Monsters’ party?”

Ron and Hermione spend some time brainstorming with him. Most of Hermione’s ideas are too mundane for a birthday party. Most of Ron’s ideas are too outlandish. Harry wants something that is special – because he needs Teddy to approve – but also something that is chid-appropriate – because he needs Andromeda to approve.

“Trouble in paradise,” Ron suddenly mutters. Harry looks up.

Malfoy and Linus appear to be arguing already. Linus is gesturing wildly while Malfoy seems to be mostly giving the silent treatment, sipping his coffee with a deep frown. “I’m going to the restroom,” Harry hears him say, and Draco sets down his coffee cup and walks off, meandering past the tables and chairs to reach the lavatories.

“Draco, I’m trying to talk to you!” Linus angrily yells after him, making a few other customers glance up from their butterbeers.

Draco ignores him, enters the bathroom and slams the door behind him.

“You know what…” Linus grumbles, and he stands. He grabs his wallet and slams some money down onto the table. He angrily snatches up his scarf and gloves and marches towards the front door.

Both Harry and Ron gape - and other guests have turned their heads as well. Linus slams the door behind him and through the window he can be seen marching up to his car, opening the trunk and starting to throw pieces of luggage onto the sidewalk. One suitcase bursts open and a pile of underwear rolls into the snow.

“Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy,” Ron says as a look of glee appears on his face. He bounds over to the restroom and bangs on the door.

After a moment, the door opens. “Oh. _You_.” Malfoy says, sniffing. “I was kind of busy you know. And it smells in here, by the way.”

For a moment, Ron looks ready to punch him in the face. Then he remembers what he was coming over for. “Yeah, _sorry_ ,” he says, drawling. “But there seems to be a problem with your… I’m sorry, is he your husband, or your uncle or something?”

Malfoy flushes, but a sharp retort dies on his tongue when he follows Ron’s gaze out through the window. Outside, Linus has thrown another bag into the snow and is now stepping into the front seat, slamming the door.

“Merlin's bollocks…” Malfoy mutters, before rushing to the door and out into the cold. “Linus!”

The engine roars. Malfoy grabs the handle to open the door on the passenger side, but Linus has locked the doors from the inside. Draco bangs a fist against the window, but the engine roars again and then the car speeds off, angrily knocking over a garbage can before lifting its wheels of the ground and taking to the sky.

Malfoy is left behind, standing in the snow, surrounded by his luggage.

-

The bell chimes as the last customers leave. Well - the last customer apart from one person. As Harry wipes down the bar, his eyes keep wandering over to the seat by the window where Malfoy is still sitting, arms crossed, staring out the window. He has rescued his luggage as best he could. It is now in a disorganized pile next to his seat. Malfoy looks a little lost, and Harry somehow doesn’t have the heart to send the man away.

“I’ll take care of it,” Ron mutters, and before Harry can say anything, Ron is already sauntering over to Malfoy’s table.

“Hey,” Harry hears him say. “I’m _reaaallly_ sorry. But we’re closing. So…”

He looks on as Malfoy frowns and glances down at his watch. “It’s eleven o’clock.”

“This is the Hog’s Head,” Ron reminds him. “Not some Diagon Alley night club. Time to go.”

“Fine, asshole,” Malfoy grunts, zipping up his jacket.

“Yeah,” Ron says. “Real mystery why your sugar daddy dumped you.”

Malfoy sets his jaw, but doesn’t retort.

Harry leaves his dishcloth on the bar and approaches them. “Ron,” he says evenly. “Could you take care of the trash in the back?”

Ron shrugs. “Sure, if you take care of the trash out here.” And he rushes out, cackling at his own joke.

Harry sighs and turns back to Malfoy, whose face is pink with embarrassment. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” the man snaps, trying to gather his bags together.

“Just – just hang on,” Harry says with a calming motion. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll wait outside, I suppose.”

“Are you sure he’ll come back for you? It’s been over two hours.”

“Stay out of my business, Potter.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for you freezing to death, all right? Is this holiday house far off, or can you apparate there without splinching yourself?”

“I’ll walk,” Malfoy says stubbornly, slinging his bags over his shoulder.

“Take the knight bus,” Harry suggests.

“I have no cash on me,” Draco bites out, the pink colour still high on his cheeks.

“You can’t walk,” Harry says, trying to keep his voice as calm and neutral as possible. “Where are you even going to walk to? I’m going to go ahead and assume that you don’t know any of the other proprietors in this village.”

“What do you suggest, Potter?” Malfoy says, spitting out his last name just like he always used to do back at Hogwarts. “You’re the one who told me to leave, so…”

Harry sighs. Frankly, he is not sure why he bothers. As far as he is concerned, Malfoy could lose some of the attitude seeing as how he is the one who is in a pickle right now. But still, Harry doesn’t want to have an expensive lawsuit filed against him because he sent the Malfoy heir out into the snow at night. “I’ll cut you a deal,” he offers. “How about you help us close up, and in exchange you can stay here for the night. There’s guest rooms upstairs.” He waves vaguely towards the spiral staircase next to the bar. “You’ll have plenty of time to get home tomorrow and your, ah, boyfriend will have had some time to cool off.”

Malfoy is clearly mulling it over in his head. Finally, he lowers the bags to the floor. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters, sullenly.

“That’s a deal, then,” Harry says.

He hears Ron enter and turns back to him. “Ron – Malfoy is spending the night. Give him a little job to do, all right?”

Ron’s eyes widen comically. “He is _what_ now?”

“Don’t be dramatic and just give him something to do. I’ll go prepare the guest room.”

Ron leans against the doorframe, squinting at Malfoy with a somewhat smug look on his face.

“What?” Malfoy snaps as Harry makes his way upstairs.

“I’ve got a perfect job for you,” Ron casually responds. “I’ve been informed by a customer today that our toilet smells. Let me get you a bucket.”

-

Harry arrives back at the inn early the next morning. He has to kick some snow out of the way to be able to pull the backdoor open.

“Boy, oh boy,” he mutters, stamping his feet to get rid of the snow and taking off his hat and gloves. ‘ _Lumos’_.

The lights turn on, casting a soft glow over the backroom of their inn. There is a kitchen at the far end, which they barely use. There is a red door to the left, leading to the front of their inn, where the pub is. In the middle of the backroom is a large, rectangular, wooden table where Harry usually sits to try and make sense of his administration. And to his right is another door leading to a small office which he never uses. That office is essentially Molly Weasley’s territory. The place where she sits and actually _does_ make sense of his administration.

Harry had only owned the place for about two weeks when he had stumbled in one morning to find the Weasley matriarch already sitting at the table, giving him a stern look. He hadn’t really spoken with her since he had broken things off with Ginny several months earlier, and immediately assumed she was here to lecture him about that exact thing. But instead, the first thing out of Molly’s mouth was: “Ron tells me you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“What else is new?” Harry had weakly joked.

Molly had firmly installed herself in the tiny office adjacent to the backroom, and sorted out all his paperwork in a single day, promising to be back the next week. It had taken Harry some effort to convince her to let him pay her for her trouble, but they had reached an agreement in the end.

Smiling at the memory, Harry shuffles closer to the kitchen to grab the coffee grinder. Humming, he opens a kitchen cabinet to get the kettle.

“Morning,” a voice sounds behind him, and Harry jumps out of his skin.

He whirls around to see Malfoy, barefoot, wearing jeans and an expensive looking green jumper. He is carrying a slightly amused look on his face. Probably because he managed to scare Harry. Once again, it occurs to Harry that Malfoy somehow looks different. It might be the way he holds himself. Or the somewhat genuine smile on his face. He wonders if Malfoy sees _him_ differently, too. “Merlin, you’re up early,” he mutters. “I had you pegged as the sleeping-in kind.”

“I don’t sleep in,” Malfoy merely says.

“Coffee?”

“I have no money on me,” Malfoy reminds him, approaching the table and sitting down. He rolls his sleeves up a little and pulls one knee up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. He looks very un-Malfoyish.

Harry waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. But it’s part of the package. So?”

Malfoy hesitates, then nods at him. “Sure. Thanks.”

“Black, right?”

Malfoy hesitates again, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes this time. “Prefer it with some milk, actually.”

“Yeah?” Harry jokes. “Does your boyfriend know that?”

Malfoy just purses his lips, studying his hands. “Look, I’m sorry about the fuss,” he finally says. “Me and Linus…” he seems to not really know how to finish that sentence.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry says. “Either way, the toilet smells like a meadow.”

“Screw you,” Malfoy says, but without any real venom.

Harry gives a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I did mean it. I didn't have you pegged as someone who knows their way around cleaning spells.”

Malfoy arches an eyebrow. “You don’t have me pegged as much, do you?”

Harry gives another sheepish grin, tapping the kettle with his wand to get the water boiling, and then tapping the coffee grinder to start grinding the beans.

“So, you… you own this place?” Malfoy asks.

“Yeah. Bought it after Aberforth Dumbledore died, four or five years ago.”

“Do you get a lot of guests staying the night?”

Harry turns and leans against the sink, eyeing Malfoy. The intensity of his tone makes Harry think that he’s not simply making small talk. “In winter… almost none. In summer, a few.”

“Right. And no other employees?”

“Ron and I do everything together. We hire some extra help in summer,” Harry replies. “A Hogwarts student looking for a summer job or something.”

“But you’re also looking for people right now,” Malfoy says. “I saw the sign in the front window.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry replies, turning back to the kettle. The truth is that they are looking for a hand because Hermione is pregnant with their first child, and Ron might soon need more time off. Harry isn’t sure if he should share that bit of personal information with Malfoy, though. “That sign has been there for a while. It’s not a phenomenal job, I guess.” He prepares two mugs of coffee and sets one down in front of Malfoy, who clasps his hands around it. Harry sits down, too. It stays silent for a moment.

“I’ll take the job, if you let me stay in that room for a while,” Malfoy then says.

Harry almost spits out his coffee. Instead, he gulps it down and coughs a little. “You – you _what_?”

“I need a place to stay,” Malfoy quietly says, his eyes trained on the coffee cup.

Harry eyes him critically. “Have you owled your boyfriend yet?”

“Let me handle me personal affairs, please,” Malfoy says, coolly. “Can I take the job or not?”

“Aren’t you being a little immature?”

“Potter, let _me_ handle my personal affairs.”

Harry leans his chin in his hand. “Haven’t you ever learned not to be rude to your potential employer?”

Malfoy sneers, but doesn’t reply.

“Do you even know how to wash a plate?” Harry queries.

“Of course I know how to wash a bloody plate,” Malfoy practically growls.

“You don’t seem the type for it.”

Malfoy now smirks, looking up at him. “What, don’t have me _pegged_ as a washing-up kind of guy?”

Harry can’t help but smile at that.

“I can wash a plate, Potter,” Malfoy says.

“Harry,” Harry corrects him.

Draco gives him a longish stare. “Sure,” he finally says. “Harry.”

Harry honestly isn’t sure why he is even considering this. Letting Draco Malfoy work in his inn? Letting Draco Malfoy _sleep_ in his inn? “And you just want to stay in one of our rooms?”

“Yes. Well, and some food would be marvellous,” Draco adds.

Harry is at a loss for words. He honestly doesn’t know how to deal with Draco, heir to the noble house of Malfoy, offering to scrub his plates in exchange for staying in one of his shabby rooms. It must be written all over his face, because Draco sighs deeply, and clarifies: “Look, me and Linus… we might not be the best match after all, all right? I just need a little time to think things over before I go back to him. And I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. Friendly reminder, all my living relatives are in Azkaban.”

Harry slowly nods. Right, so Draco is looking for something temporary, before moving on to something better. That doesn’t sound as improbable. “All right,” he says. “If you think it’ll help.”

“Perfect,” Draco says, looking relieved. He gulps down the last of his coffee.

“Hey,” Harry says, sitting up. “Damn – I forgot you wanted milk. Why didn’t you say something?”

Draco, for some reason, looks embarrassed. “It was fine,” he insists, before getting up. “When’s Weasley coming?”

“Ron has a day off, today.”

Draco grins. “What a shame.”

-

Harry waves his hand to make the chairs float down from the tables. The place won’t open until noon. Even then, Harry doesn’t expect the first guests until later in the afternoon. People know they don’t need to bother coming to the Hog’s Head for lunch. And that’s exactly how Harry likes it. He doesn’t really care that, after four years of owning the place, he still isn’t turning a profit. He has plenty of money either way. All he cares about is people not bothering him too much. So far, he is successful. Once he bought this inn, kept his head down, and started leading the most boring life imaginable, the press quickly lost interest in him. As long as he keeps his scar hidden beneath his hair, he can even go out into public without people recognizing who he is.

He glances out the window. He has asked Draco to shovel snow outside, and Draco seems to be doing exactly that. Harry can’t help but feel confused. Of course, it’s been years and they’ve all grown up a lot since school, but he never thought he’d see Draco Malfoy do some good honest work without bitching and whining about it. He looks on as Draco stamps his feet a few times and suddenly realizes that Draco is wearing shoes from a muggle brand. Speaking of which – he hadn’t considered this before, but he now realizes that Draco’s jeans look quite mugglish, too. In fact, he’s not sure if wizards ever wear jeans. He then notices something else and moves to the front door, pushing it open and leaning out. “Don’t you have a scarf or some gloves?”

Draco looks down at his red hands, flexes his fingers for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Go buy some, then,” Harry says. “Gladrags Wizardwear is right around the corner. They take Gringotts cheques.”

Draco scoffs, then lowers his shovel when he sees Harry’s face, as if he hadn’t realized that Harry was being serious. “Why do you think I’d be working here if I had _money_?” He asks.

Harry frowns and leans against the doorpost as he processes that question. Draco turns his back to him and continues shovelling. “What do you mean?” Harry finally asks. “Your family is insanely rich.”

“Was,” Draco corrects. “Ministry took it all during the trials.”

“Didn’t you ever have a job?”

“No,” Draco says curtly. “Didn’t need to, did I?”

 _‘Because I had hooked up with a rich guy’_ is left unsaid. Harry has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Okay, then,” he says, trying his hardest to remain supportive. “Why don’t you go collect some more of your stuff from Linus? I’ll even do it for you if you really don’t want to see him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Draco says stiffly.

“Why not?”

Draco kicks some snow aside. “I don’t want him to know where I am,” he admits.

“Come on, Mal- Draco,” Harry says. “People break up. _Mature_ people manage to talk things out.”

Draco’s annoyed tone is back. “Potter, let me deal with this, okay?”

“Whatever,” Harry sighs, throwing up his hands. “You want to borrow my gloves?”

“I’m fine,” Draco snaps back.

Harry steps back inside and walks to the backroom. He takes his gloves from his pocket, then walks back to the front door, leans out and throws them at Draco.

“There,” he says. And he gets back to work.

-

It’s a quiet day in the Hog’s Head. A few regulars come in, but that’s all. After hanging up their ‘closed’ sign, Harry carefully arranges his galleons, sickles and knuts into piles, tallying up the total. That’s about all he can do when it comes to finances. Molly will take care of the rest.

Maybe he should take a bookkeeping class after his cooking class.

From the kitchen, he hears the sink running and the soft clinking of glasses bumping into each other. He slides the heavy coins into a small safe and firmly closes the lid, folding the piece of paper where he kept the tally.

When he moves through the red door into the backroom, he is met with the sight of Draco Malfoy vigorously scrubbing out his large soup pan with a sponge. He has only rolled up his right sleeve, leaving his left sleeve to get drenched by the soapy water. Harry realizes perfectly well why – there is a dark mark hiding under that sleeve. “What are you doing?”

Draco stills his movements and turns around, throwing Harry a wary look. “The dishes.”

Harry squints at him. Is Draco so far out of touch with reality that he has never needed to learn a dishwashing spell? That seems about right. “By hand? Do you not know the right spells?”

“Oh,” Draco says, fiddling with the sponge. “Well… Yes, I suppose I would know them. But I don’t have my wand. I didn’t take it with me on our trip.”

Harry stares at him, absolutely gobsmacked. He has never heard of a wizard going on a trip and leaving his wand behind. He has never even heard of a wizard leaving his wand in another room of his own house. Let alone a wizard from a family like the Malfoys. Not having a job, not having money was one thing. But not even having a wand? How in Merlin’s name did Draco Malfoy of all people land himself in _this_ situation?

“So I suppose you can feel better, knowing that I’m unarmed,” Draco weakly jokes.

Harry studies Draco’s face for a while, then delves into his pocket. “All right, I’ll bring you one of my spare wands tomorrow. I have some lying around. For now, just use mine,” he says, as he extends his own wand to Draco. “Magic doesn’t help with the paperwork anyways.”

Draco looks down at the wand, and then up at Harry. “You’re giving me your wand?”

“ _Lending,_ ” Harry emphasizes with a small frown. “Here.”

He steps forward, but Draco actually leans back in response, his back hitting the kitchen counter, looking at the wand as though it might explode. “Have you lost your mind?” He asks.

Harry loses his patience and slams his wand down next to the sink. “Just use it. You’re wasting time. I’ll be out front when you’re done.”

He leaves the room.


	2. The weasel and the weaslette

Harry brings Draco a wand and a pair of gloves the next day.

“These are new,” Draco says, pulling at the price tag connecting the two gloves together.

“Yeah, why?”

Draco gives him a searching look. “You don’t have to be nice to me, you know.”

Harry frowns. “Why not?”

Draco looks taken aback at the question and doesn’t respond. Instead, he lifts the pair of gloves to his mouth and uses his teeth to pull the tag off. For some reason, Harry finds that another decidedly un-Malfoyish thing to do. It makes him smile.

Draco walks to the coatrack to stuff the gloves into the pockets of his jacket. “Thanks,” he murmurs, so quietly that Harry almost doesn’t hear it.

“Welcome. Now try the wand. It probably won’t work as well as your own, but good enough for dishwashing spells, I’d say. Ron will be here in a few minutes.”

-

“You are out of your bloody mind! You have _actually_ lost your mind now!”

Harry, Ron and Draco are gathered around the wooden table in the backroom. Draco leans back in his chair, smirking, looking like a satisfied cat, carefully blowing on his steaming cup of tea.

Ron, meanwhile, has turned a shade of purple. “Harry, I’m serious. This is a stupid idea!”

Harry, who had been trying to focus on a list of ingredients, puts his pen down. “I don’t get what the big deal is, Ron. I’m not going to NOT hire someone just because we didn’t get along in school. School is a long time ago.”

Ron leans back in his chair, squinting at Draco.

“Stop staring at me like that, you muggle-loving ginger!” Draco snaps.

“Draco!” Harry exclaims, dismayed.

Meanwhile, Ron scoffs. “Oh yes. He’s a picture of redemption!”

“Old dog, new tricks,” Harry says. “Give him time.”

Draco bristles. Harry remains calm. “The Wizengamot freed him of all charges, so I see no reason to play judge, jury and executioner now. The war is in the past. We’ve wanted an extra hand for months, no one is using our guestrooms… It’s a perfect arrangement.”

“Except after a few hours of cleaning he’ll get tired of it and go crawling back to his rich sugar daddy,” Ron objects.

“Fuck you,” says Draco.

“If he decides to leave, he leaves,” Harry says firmly. “But as long as he’s here, he’s here. He did a fine job yesterday. Now, can we discuss things that are actually important? Like food?”

Ron is still clearly unhappy, but after a final disparaging glare at Draco, he allows the topic to be changed. “I still think we should focus on pancakes. Pancakes are easy. And there’s… you know… loads of different kinds.”

Harry shakes his head. “Pancakes make us look like a family restaurant. When’s the last time you saw kids in here?”

“Yes, but Harry,” says Ron impatiently, “you _can’t cook_.”

“I’m going to take a course,” Harry protests.

“I think you expect a little too much from a few evening classes.”

Draco breaks in, looking back and forth between them. “Neither of you can cook? And you decided to buy a restaurant?”

Ron grimaces at him, but Harry simply shrugs. “Didn’t you notice how people only ordered soup last night? I can make tomato, pumpkin or onion.”

A bell chimes and they all look up.

“I’ll go,” Draco says, setting his teacup down.

Harry watches him leave, then turns to Ron. “See? He tries.”

-

Ginny throws her auror robes onto one chair and flops down into the one next to it. A blond young man who is not at all unattractive approaches her table with paper and pen. Holy smokes, where did Harry find _this_ one? He looks sort of familiar.

The blonde wants to hand her a menu.

“Never mind that,” Ginny says. “I’ll have tea. And tell Harry to make me a grilled cheese. You the new guy?”

“So it seems.”

“Have we met before? Are you a friend of Harry’s?” And then, offhandedly: “You’re hot.”

“Uhh… Thanks,” the man says.

“Want to go on a date?”

The man looks somewhat amused. “Yeah, no – I’m gay.”

Ginny hums. “You’re dating Harry, then? You should. He hasn’t gotten laid in ages.”

“Not surprised,” the man drawls, before turning around. “Be right back with your order.”

-

“Some redhead told you to make her a grilled cheese and then made a pass at me,” Draco says, throwing his notebook and pen down onto the table in front of Harry.

Harry looks up. “Oh, Ginny’s here? I’ll go say hi.” He pushes his chair back and disappears through the red door.

Draco turns to Ron, to find him still looking at him with contempt. “Who’s Ginny?”

“My sister,” Ron says, his tone challenging.

Oh, _that’s right_. The Weaslette. She did look familiar. She had been dating Potter at school, hadn’t she? Well, clearly that is over. “Want me to make a grilled cheese, then?”

“Do you even know what a frying pan looks like?” Ron bites out.

Draco sits down, stretches his legs. “They’re… the _round_ ones, correct?”

“Git.”

“Who _wouldn’t_ know what a frying pan looks like?” Draco asks, getting impatient.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Ron says, gesturing wildly. “Maybe a poncy ferret-face who lives in a mansion with house elves catering to his every need? You know? The only reason why you’re dating a granddad?”

“Very mature,” Draco shoots back. “You know house elf slave labour was outlawed only last year, right?”

“Wouldn’t stop someone like you from still keeping a few locked up in your basement.”

“I can’t believe it’s been eight years since the war and you’re still… _this_.”

Ron laughs without humour. “ _Me?_ Says the guy who waltzes in here on the arm of some rich sugar daddy twice his age, then decides to throw a hissy fit and gets dumped on the spot. Yeah, that sounds _nothing_ like the guy you were in high school. Why don't you go clean a toilet or something?”

Draco sets his jaw and gets up. “Screw you. Go puke up slugs.”

“Right… who’s mature now?”

-

“Auror Weasley,” Harry says in greeting.

Ginny gives him a tiny salute. “At your service. Just doing my rounds.”

Harry sits. “Somehow your rounds always end at my pub.”

“What can I say? Your place is festering with shady types.”

“There’s no one else here,” Harry points out.

“Yes,” Ginny says. “It’s highly suspicious.”

Harry chuckles.

“Your new guy is cute,” Ginny comments.

Harry waves a hand. “He won’t be here long.”

“Then you’d better get a move on,” Ginny cheekily says.

“What?”

“You know, get laid,” Ginny continues casually. “Artie never owled me back, by the way.”

“He’s a bit of a prick, actually,” Harry says. “So I’m not _that_ interested.”

“Then why’d you hire him?”

Harry shrugs. “Guess I’m too good for this world. Which one was Artie again?”

Ginny waves her hands around her head. “The guy with the ears. So – uhm – if he’s a prick, is it bad that I told him you needed to _get some_?”

Harry drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Ugh - Seriously, Ginny?”

“I know,” Ginny agrees. “I should put a foot in it. So, what makes him a prick?”

“I don’t know. He’s arrogant.”

“And hot.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty hot,” Harry can’t help but admit.

They both chuckle.

“You know that’s not my style, though,” Harry continues.

“No, your style is to go on one date a year and then never follow through. Can't you just, for once, shag a guy you don't really like? In fact, not liking him makes things a lot easier, I'll tell you. And kinda makes it hotter, too.”

“TMI, Gin,” Harry tells her and she smiles. She still looks pretty when she smiles. She makes him laugh. And she understands him in a way that no one else does. For a long time, he assumed that that meant that he was in love with her. Until he realized, pretty damn late, that he is actually as gay as the day is long. It’s been almost five years since they broke up, and Ginny didn’t need long to dive right back into the dating scene. Meanwhile, Harry gets anxiety at the mere idea of having to start up a whole new relationship. He has tried going on a few dates, but quickly found that other guys were more attracted to Harry Potter, the boy who lived, than to Harry Potter, owner of the Hog’s Head. They all quickly grew disappointed with how boring and unadventurous Harry’s life was. He feels a bit like the whole wizarding world is disappointed with him at the moment.

The bell chimes again and a couple enters the pub, seating themselves. Only seconds later, Draco enters and approaches them to take their order.

“Check – out – that – ass,” Ginny murmurs, following Draco around with her eyes.

Harry smiles, before deciding to drop the bomb. “Does the name Draco Malfoy mean anything to you?”

Ginny frowns in thought. “Hmmm… Lucius Malfoy… He’s the son, correct? Yes – he was in your year. Wait… Wait… _That’s…?_ ”

“Yup.”

“Merlin, Harry,” Ginny says, dropping her voice to a whisper as she glances at Draco. “What did Ron think of that?”

“He’s pretty pissed off. But he’ll come around like he always does.”

“What the hell is a Malfoy doing here?”

“He needs a place to crash. He had a fight with his boyfriend.”

“And of course, the great Harry Potter always has room in his heart for anyone,” Ginny jokes.

“Oh, knock it off,” Harry mutters. He hasn’t been ‘the great Harry Potter’ in a long time.

-

Ron tells Malfoy to clean the toilets after they close up. Malfoy tells Ron to go fuck himself. But he does clean the toilets.

“I was sort of hoping he’d complain a bit more,” Ron tells Harry as they clean up in the back.

“This is not a good look on you,” Harry responds.

“What?”

“Kicking a man when he’s down.”

Ron shakes his head with a crooked grin as he empties the trashcan. “You’re always so damn nice, Harry. _Everyone_ looks bad next to you.”

-

The next day, it feels like they are settling into something of a routine. Ron mans the bar. Draco takes orders. Harry makes soup. It’s a Saturday, so there are more customers than usual.

Draco appears unimpressed, however. “Are you even turning a profit?” He asks when he pops into the back for a glass of water.

Harry looks up from his pan of pumpkin soup. “Sometimes we do, sometimes we don’t,” he says as he shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter either way. I pay Ron and I pay Molly. And now I pay you. I don’t really care how much money is left for me.”

“You don’t want to make money?” Draco asks, and Harry rolls his eyes because it’s such a Malfoy-thing to ask. “No. I mainly want to stay out of the spotlight, and working here seems to be the best way to achieve that. Back when I was in auror training, I couldn’t sneeze without someone writing an article about it. I’m sure you saw the headlines. They expected great things of me.”

“I didn’t get British news in Italy,” Draco says.

Harry nods. He had forgotten about Draco moving to Italy after the war. “Right. By the way, you got a letter from Linus,” he points his large spoon at the parchment envelope on the table, that arrived about an hour ago.

“Oh,” Draco says, his eyes dropping down to the letter, an unnerved expression appearing on his face. “What did it say?”

Harry stares at him. “I don’t know. I didn’t read it,” he slowly says. “It’s _your_ letter.”

“Right,” Draco says, avoiding Harry’s gaze and picking up the letter, slowly turning it over in his hands but not opening it.

“You can go upstairs if you want some time,” Harry says. “We’ve got it down here.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Draco murmurs. “I don’t really want to write him back anyways.”

“Are you sure? He might be worried about you.”

“Let _me_ handle my personal affairs please, Potter.” Draco turns the letter over in his hands again and then, with sudden motions, rips the envelope in half and crumples the papers together. Agitated, he runs his hands through his hair for a moment. He then drops his hand again and looks at Harry, his grey eyes troubled. “I don’t want to get back together with him. I don’t want to.”

“All right,” Harry says lightly. “Your decision. Either way, you’ll have to talk to him about it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Draco replies shortly. He moves to the bin and throws the crumpled letter away.

Harry studies him for a while longer. “I have a day off tomorrow,” he then says.

Draco merely hums.

“So it’s you and Ron,” Harry continues. “I… uh… I told him to not just make you clean the toilets.”

Draco shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

-

“You’d better not think that you can be an arse today just because Harry’s not here,” is pretty much the first thing Ron says the next morning when he steps in through the backdoor and catches Draco at breakfast.

Draco huffs as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Black, with a little milk. The way _he_ likes it, not the way Linus likes it.

Ron grumbles as he takes off his coat. “None of this would have happened if you and your boyfriend had used normal transportation instead of flying through a bloody snowstorm in a bloody car. What was that about? He refuses to apparate or floo to his destination, simply because he wants to show off his fancy ride?”

“He doesn’t want to _show off_. He can’t do most of that stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you care for some coffee, too?” Draco asks, perfectly polite.

Ron sits down opposite him, squinting. “He can’t apparate? Don’t tell me your boyfriend is a muggle. There’s no way, no freaking way that Draco Malfoy would-“

“He’s a squib. Coffee or no?”

Ron drops his hands to the table. “A squib? Draco Malfoy’s boyfriend is a squib? After all the crap you gave Hermione in school for not being pureblood?”

Draco simply arches an eyebrow. Usually, his instinct in these situations is to fall over himself apologizing. But Weasley brings out something else in him. Something snarky, something defiant. Something he hasn’t been since Hogwarts. Something he wouldn’t mind getting back. “You’re right,” he drawls. “Certainly seems like _one_ of us grew up since Hogwarts and the other didn’t, hmmm?”

Ron huffs and gets up from the table, muttering something that certainly includes the words “ferret” and “puking slugs”.

-

“Miss Alderman!” Ron cheerfully greets a plump lady with black, curly hair when she enters, immediately offering her an arm to guide her to one of the chairs by the fireplace. “How’s the kids? Auriga liking her new job?”

“They are fine, my boy. Just fine. How is the house hunt?”

Draco loathes to admit it, but he can tell that Ron has a much better head for running a pub than Harry does. Not that Ron knows anything about money. Or legal matters. Or Cooking. But what he _does_ know is how to deal with customers, seemingly knowing everyone who enters the pub by name.

Draco had been nervous about spending a day alone with the Weasel, without Harry there to mediate between them. But after their little confrontation this morning, Ron seems to have elected to simply ignore Draco entirely, simply taking his usual spot behind the bar while Draco is busting his ass to serve all the tables.

Honestly, Draco would prefer to get ordered around, rather than be given the silent treatment. At least then he’d know that he wasn’t doing everything wrong. He finds himself suddenly doubting every single decision he makes. How much tea in a teacup? How long to wait before clearing away empty glasses? Do unused napkins go back on the pile or in the trash?

Two young witches have ordered a butterbeer, and Draco only remembers when stepping behind the bar that they have three different kinds. And now he feels like too much of an idiot to go back and ask them which one they wanted.

He notices Ron looking at him now, his eyebrows slightly raised, and Draco realizes he has been silently staring at the butterbeer bottles for probably a solid minute.

Merlin, what is wrong with him.

“Just give ‘em the butterscotch one,” Ron says with a glance at the witches - because of course he would know literally _everything_ that goes on in the pub. “They seem the types for it.”

Draco nods, relieved.

-

“No such things as monsters, Harry! Jus’ misunderstood creatures.”

Harry smiles as he manoeuvres through Hagrid’s tiny hut. “I’d argue that ‘Heroes versus misunderstood creatures’ doesn’t exactly have a great ring to it, though.”

Hagrid flops down in one of his huge armchairs and pokes the fire in the fireplace. “Yeh got plenty of stories fer ‘em. Just set ‘em ‘round yer fireplace and tell ‘em all about the basilisk. Or the dementors. Or the Dragon.”

Harry sits down opposite Hagrid, swallowing. “Right, the ‘great Harry Potter’ and all that.”

“He’s a good kid, Teddy is,” Hagrid brusquely says. “And yeh’re a good godfather,” he continues, beaming at Harry.

“I hope so,” Harry murmurs. Fang lumbers up to him and Harry reaches out a hand to scratch the dog behind the ear. “I try.”

“He’s turning nine, isn’ he? Can’ wait to have the little tyke running ‘round Hogwarts. It’s been quiet here lately. Not enough kids gettin’ up to shenanigans, like you used to back in the day.”

“Shenanigans?” Harry repeats dryly. “Yes, that’s how I’d describe taking down the most evil wizard of our generation.”

Hagrid gives him a knowing look. “Wasn’ jus’ that. Yeh know that it wasn’. Yeh made plenty of trouble that had nothin’ to do with You-Know-Who.”

“He’s been gone for seven years. Can we start saying ‘Voldemort’ already?”

Hagrid’s dramatic shudder is enough of a response.

“Fine, forget it,” Harry says, staring into the flames.

Hagrid uses the moment of silence to change to subject. “How’s our Hermione doin’? Baby showing yet? She hasn’t bin ‘round in a while.”

“She’s showing a little. I don’t think you’d notice if you didn’t already know.”

“Ron still workin’ full time?”

“For now,” Harry murmurs. “I don’t know how much longer. I’ve been looking for another employee. Did you know Malfoy is staying at the inn? Wanted to help with the cleaning, for some reason.”

“The kid that got Buckbeak sentenced ter death?”

“Not a kid anymore,” Harry reminds him.

“Yeh’re all still kids to me, that’s a sure thing,” Hagrid’s armchair squeaks as he leans back in it. “Good ter hear he’s doin’ okay.”

“How do you know he’s doing okay?”

“Son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, picking up a job in _your_ pub? Hell, he’s doing okay.”

-

The man has dark blue eyes and a beard and he looks a bit like Linus. Which means he makes Draco feel nervous.

“What do you mean I can’t smoke?” The man snarls at Draco. “I’m out of town a few years, I come back and suddenly this place is all prissy?”

“There’s a new owner, sir,” Draco points out, feeling his heartbeat in his ears and doing his absolute best to remain calm.

“Well, I’d like to meet this new owner. By the way, you served me cold coffee just now. How hard is it to get _that_ right?”

“I’ll get you a new cup, sir,” Draco promises, determined to avoid a fight at all cost.

The man slouches in his chair, leering at him. “Yeah, but I don’t want _you_ to bring it to me. Have _the new owner_ bring it to me. I’d like to ask him why he’d think it was a good idea to ban smoking and hire a little dumbass like you.”

Draco moves back to the kitchen to make a fresh cup of coffee, unsure how to proceed from there. He should have simply told the guy that Harry isn’t working today, but he always has a tendency to clamp up during confrontations. Meanwhile, Ron is still steadily ignoring him, instead joking around with a few tipsy, middle-aged women sitting at the bar, who all seem to be nauseatingly charmed by the redhead.

“…and then it turned out the unicorn was actually a donkey whose head got stuck in a wooden barrel!” Ron finishes and the women collapse into giggles.

Draco decides to just bring the coffee to the man himself, because if he keeps dawdling here, it’ll probably upset the guy even more.

It goes about as well as can be expected. “Didn’t I tell you to get me the damn owner?” The man barks.

“The owner isn’t working today.”

“How convenient. Did he tell you to say that? Bet you spit into my coffee too, huh?”

“The coffee is fine,” Draco snaps, losing his self-control.

“Everything all right, here?” Ron asks, suddenly popping up next to them.

Draco doesn’t wait for the man to start ranting about his incompetence. He flees to the backroom instead.

Once there, he sags against the wall and a wave of panic overtakes him. His knees buckle and he slides to the ground, dropping his head in his hands, waiting for the last straws he had been clutching at to snap in half. If he gets fired, there’s nothing left for him.

He’s mildly hyperventilating by the time Weasley’s shoes appear in his field of vision. It takes everything he has to pull himself together enough to look him in the eye.

Ron is looking down at him with a frown. “Are you okay?” He asks, slapping his towel over his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know. That guy was being an asshole. I told him to get lost.”

“Oh,” Draco says, swallowing a few times in an attempt to keep himself together.

Ron leans against the table, crossing his arms as he keeps his eyes on Draco, his gaze assessing him in a way that makes Draco’s neck hairs stand up. It’s not exactly helping his attempts to calm himself.

“Can you not stare at me?” He snaps.

Ron simply ducks his head a little, before pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his towel again. “Take a break or something,” he suggests. “I can handle the place. I always do when Harry’s not here.”

Once he has left, Draco takes a few minutes to get his breathing under control. And then another few minutes to silently kick himself for having a meltdown over something as simple as a complaining customer. It simply hadn’t really hit him until this very moment: leaving Linus was all good and well, but if Harry kicks him out, he has absolutely nothing to fall back on.

 _So then get to work and don’t give him a reason to fire you,_ he tells himself _._ With a final exhale, he gets to his feet. He stalks back to the pub, steps past Ron without a word, and approaches an old lady who has just taken up a seat near the front door to take her order.

-

“Could you not tell Harry about today?” Draco asks Ron as they are closing the place up. He’s knows he is pushing his luck. Ron seems like the kind of man who doesn’t hold information back. From anyone. _Ever_. Certainly not Slytherin enough.

“Why not?” Ron asks.

Draco doesn’t respond, his movements rigid as he bolts the front door shut with what is probably slightly excessive force.

“You think Harry will fire you for having a panic attack?”

Draco bristles. “I didn’t have a _panic attack_ , Weasley.” He turns to glare at Ron, who is now leaning on the bar, his chin resting in his hand. He is giving Draco that assessing look again. “Well, it was close,” Ron says. “What happened there?”

Draco turns away from him and busies himself with shutting the curtains, lips pressed into a firm line.

“You know, I’m really easy to talk to,” Ron says suddenly.

Draco turns to him, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Comes with being a bartender, I guess. People pour their hearts out to me. After a few drinks, of course, but still. I give great advice, if I may say so myself, and I'm very discreet.”

Draco stays silent, somewhat baffled that Ron now seems to suggest for him and Draco to have a little heart-to-heart.

“And just FYI,” Ron continues. “Harry won’t fire you. Ever. He’s simply incapable of something like that. Honestly, I think he’d implode.”

Draco would like to believe it. “Dishes are done?” He asks curtly.

“Yes,” Ron says, pushing himself upright again. “You get the trash. I’ll do the toilets.”

-

Harry shuffles up to the backdoor of the inn. He frowns when he notices some woodchips scattered around the backdoor and by the trashcan. He carefully pushes some around with his foot. Is there an animal living in their garbage, now? But what kind of animal leaves woodchips around – some kind of magical moving tree? He’ll have to ask Ron tomorrow.

He opens the backdoor and wipes his feet on the mat. The backroom is dark and deserted. He moves through the red door towards the pub in front, where the curtains are drawn and the chairs are stacked on the tables. Draco has obviously gone to bed. Or up to his room at least.

Harry feels a strange desire to go upstairs and check on him. He shakes it off. Everything looks as it should down here, which should be reassurance enough that Draco and Ron didn’t start some kind of barfight today.

Then, he hears a creaking noise on the spiral staircase, and he turns with a muttered _lumos_.

Light falls on the figure of Draco, who is standing on the bottom step in pyjamas. Again, Harry notices that they are muggle style, judging by the neon-blue colour of the shirt.

“Sorry,” Draco says, looking at him with bleary eyes. “I heard a noise, so I thought… I didn’t think you’d come back tonight.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Harry replies. “I tried to be quiet. Were you sleeping?”

Draco shrugs, rubbing his hands up and down his own arms. “I’m a really light sleeper.” He lets his gaze wander around the inn. “Did we mess anything up?”

“No,” Harry says, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Everything looks good. So I guess you and Ron didn’t kill each other today?”

“I assure you that if I ever kill that Weasel, I wouldn’t leave a single trace, so you wouldn’t know either way,” Draco says, lifting his chin a little, though a smile is playing on his lips.

Harry chuckles.

“Can I… make some tea?” Draco asks. “It’ll help me sleep.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says. “The kitchen is yours. Anytime. I’ll have some too if you don’t mind.”

They move to the backroom and Harry turns on one of the smaller lights, sitting down.

“So why are you here on your day off?” Draco asks as he boils the kettle.

“Just checking in before going home. Making sure the place didn’t burn down.”

Draco hums as he stands, staring at the kettle, his back turned to Harry.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asks.

Draco turns to look at him. Harry takes that as a ‘yes’.

“Why do you wear muggle clothes?” Harry continues, waving at Draco’s shirt.

Draco looks down at his own clothes, grabbing his shirt and pulling it forward a little. “Oh – does it bother you?”

“Of course not,” Harry replies, frowning. “I just figured it would bother _you_. Considering… who you are.”

“Who am I?” Draco asks quietly, cocking his head.

Harry considers that question for a moment. “Someone who wouldn’t wear muggle clothes,” he says finally.

Draco huffs out a breath, turning back to pour the hot water into a teapot. “I might as well tell you, because Weasley will blabber about it tomorrow anyways,” he mutters, grabbing two mugs, shuffling to the table and setting the teapot down, before sitting down too. “Linus is a squib. We lived mostly muggle style.”

Harry feels his mouth drop open as he stares at Draco. “How the heck did you meet him, then?”

Draco shrugs, his lips pressed together as he reaches for the tea. “What tea do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” Harry says.

Draco freezes, his hand hovering over the jars of tea, and he glances up at Harry. “What?”

“Whatever you want, I don’t care,” Harry repeats.

Draco searches his face for a moment, as if he finds it hard to believe that someone might not particularly care about a flavour of tea. “All right,” he finally says. “But then you can’t get pissed off if I choose the wrong thing.”

“I don’t get pissed off about _tea_ , Draco,” Harry assures him.

Draco sniffs, before picking up one of the jars and unscrewing the lid.

“Cherry blossom, really?” Harry asks.

Draco immediately lowers the jar, wide-eyed.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I’m kidding.”

“Not funny, scar-head,” Draco tersely informs him.

“Just make the tea, you ponce. And then we can both get to sleep.”


	3. Cold, leftover soup

Draco waves his wand and looks on as the wooden chairs gently float down from the tables. It feels good to use magic again on a daily basis. It had been a while.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of red hair moving closer to their front door. For a moment, he thinks it’s the Weaslette again. But then the door opens, and one of the scariest women that Draco has ever known casually steps inside. Molly Weasley in the flesh.

“Oh, hello, dear!” She says, out of breath. “You must be new.”

She doesn’t seem to notice that he has frozen like a deer in headlights. And he can tell by the expression on her face that she doesn’t recognize him. Yet. “I – yes, I am,” he croaks.

“You're not _another_ one of Harry's old school mates, are you?” Mrs. Weasley asks, sounding exasperated.

“Well… we weren’t mates exactly,” Draco manages.

“Right. Well, I’m just here for the finances,” Mrs. Weasley says decisively. “Are the boys around?”

“Upstairs. Shall I get them?”

“No need, I know the way.” She marches towards the backroom.

Draco needs at least a full minute to get a hold of himself, and manage to suppress the involuntary memory of the dangerous look on Molly Weasley’s face as she killed Bellatrix LeStrange.

It’s clear that the Weasley Matriarch knows her way around the pub. She probably comes here a lot. Draco realizes that it’s only a matter of time before she finds out who exactly he is. His Malfoy-sense of self-preservation tells him that he needs to get in this woman’s good graces _fast_ before he’ll end up at the wrong end of her wand, just like his aunt.

When he enters the backroom, he notices that Mrs. Weasley has installed herself in the tiny office. The door is ajar, but Draco still knocks as politely as possible.

“Yes?”

Draco opens the door a little wider. Molly Weasley is sorting through the paperwork, looking particularly stern with her reading glasses. “Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee, ma’am?” He asks.

“That would be lovely, dear,” she replies, distracted. “Tea, please. No milk, no sugar.”

“Something to eat, as well?”

She chuckles and looks up at him over the rim of her glasses. “Why, do you have anything other than cold leftover soup?”

“I can make you something,” Draco offers. “There’s food in the kitchen that I use for my own meals, I can just whip something up.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Mrs. Weasley says, taking off her glasses and scrutinizing him. “You are staying in the guestroom, aren’t you? My daughter mentioned something about it. I remember it now.”

Draco nervously twists the doorknob, feeling his heartbeat speed up. He can only nod in response.

“Let’s have a little chat then,” Mrs Weasley says, showing her teeth as she smiles.

Draco is frozen in his spot for a few seconds. “Well, sure,” he manages. “Let me just get your tea, first.”

He is not sure whether to take as long as possible to forestall the inevitable confrontation, or to make the tea quick and efficiently in an attempt to get this woman to like him before she finds out who exactly he is. He settles for option number two and swiftly returns to the office. His hands actually shake as he offers Mrs. Weasley the cup of tea.

“Thank you, dear,” she says sweetly, leaning back in her chair. “Have a seat.”

Draco sits.

“So, where did Harry find you?” She asks.

“Oh, well. Right here. I mean, I - we stopped here for coffee.”

“And you didn’t have a job, yet?”

“No,” Draco says, still waiting for the inevitable _So what’s your name, dear?_

“What is your background, then?” Mrs. Weasley asks. “Do you have any training or experience in this business? Did Harry even interview you before hiring you?”

Draco blinks. “I just take orders and do the cleaning.”

Mrs. Weasley takes a small sip. “Nevertheless,” she says, smacking her lips.

“He didn’t interview me,” Draco says. “He just felt sorry for me.”

Molly Weasley smiles. “That does sound like Harry. I suppose he knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh yes,” Draco lies easily. “He does a spectacular job around here. His grilled cheese is a real favourite.” The last comment slipped out before he could help it. It is clear that Mrs. Weasley picked up on the sarcastic undertones, because she arches an eyebrow and Draco wishes he could run far away. But she smiles, too. Which is probably good.

Maybe it’s best to get it out of the way as soon as possible. Rip the bandage off. “My name is Draco Malfoy,” he says, clasping his hands together and bowing his head as he waits for a reaction.

“Yes, dear, I know.”

Draco’s head shoots up. “You… you _know?_ ”

“Yes, as I said, my daughter did mention Draco Malfoy living at the Hog’s Head. She seemed to think you would already have left by now, though.”

Draco smiles. “Actually - I think I'll stick around for a while. I have nowhere else to be. Although Harry doesn't seem to believe that.”

She merely hums. “So why exactly did Harry hire you again?”

“I sort of… broke up with my boyfriend in this café,” Draco says. “About a week ago.”

“That’s not really a reason to get a job as a washer-upper.”

“What, never had your heart broken?” Draco asks, in a weak attempt at humour. It works. Mrs Weasley cracks another smile.

“Because I have found that washing plates in a remote cafe with hardly any guests is actually a perfect way to sulk,” Draco continues.

-

Harry and Ron have just made their way downstairs when a BANG makes them both jump out of their skin. A familiar house-elf appears in front of them.

“Mister Harry Potter Sir!” Dobby squeaks and he rushes closer to hug Harry around the legs.

Harry almost loses his balance. “Dobby! Hey, nice to see you. Day off, huh?”

Whenever Dobby has a day off, he more often than not spends it at the inn, helping Harry out with little jobs. Harry has been trying to convince Dobby to spend his free time relaxing and doing something fun. But it seems that Dobby’s definition of ‘fun’ is sweeping floors while yapping Harry’s ears off with Hogwarts stories. Honestly, Harry always enjoys it, too. He realizes that this time might be a little different, though, so he crouches next to Dobby to look him in the eye. “Um, just a heads-up, Dobby: Draco Malfoy is temporarily staying here. So, if you want to stay out of the way for the time being, I understand.”

Dobby’s tennis-ball shaped eyes widen dramatically, but the next sentence out of his mouth is the last thing Harry would have expected. “Master Draco is here? Dobby would very much like to see him again!”

“Uhhh…” Harry exchanges a surprised look with Ron. “Well, sure. I’m guessing he’s in the back. Come on.”

Harry waves them to go ahead to the backroom. As he follows Ron and Dobby, he wonders if Draco will be as thrilled to see Dobby as Dobby apparently is to see him. Dobby’s excitement might simply be an old remnant of his perceived obligation to service the Malfoys.

“Is Mr. Weasley finding a beautiful house yet?” Dobby asks, looking up at Ron.

Harry watches Ron shrug. “Could be better, to be honest. The more houses we see, the more we find out that we actually want _very_ different things.”

“What different things does Mr. Weasley want?”

“Oh, really dumb things, to be honest. Hermione’ll find the windows too small. And when she likes the windows, I’ll hate the attic. And what is with houses not having fireplaces anymore, anyways? Don’t people use the floo anymore? And guess what? She wants a house with a garage because she’s actually into the idea of getting one of those flying cars - - oh, hey, mum!”

Harry almost bumps into Ron when the other suddenly stands still. He peeks over Ron’s shoulder to see Molly and Draco exiting the office.

“Good morning, my dears!” Molly says, stepping forward and kissing her son on each cheek, before leaning over to shake Dobby’s hand. “And so wonderful to see you again!”

Harry uses the moment to scrutinize Draco with a sharp look. Draco seems to be nailed to the floor at the sight of the house-elf. He certainly doesn’t seem to be as enthusiastic as Dobby was a moment ago.

Draco disappears from view for a moment when Molly steps in front of Harry. Harry allows her to firmly squeeze his cheeks, as always. “Hello, Molly, I didn’t expect you to arrive this early.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I did, isn’t it?” Molly replies, stepping to the side and nodding her head in Draco’s direction. “Because I’ve been informed that your new employee doesn’t even have a proper contract written up.”

Draco’s eyes widen. “I… I don’t need a contract.”

“You’ll need to stipulate his salary, benefits, days off, etcetera,” Molly carries on as if she hasn’t heard him.

“I don’t want any days off,” Draco says quickly.

Molly tuts at him and shakes her head. “It’s required by law.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry says, sheepishly running a hand through his hair. “I suppose it would be. He’s already been working six days straight, so I guess he needs a day off today?”

Draco looks decidedly unhappy with how the conversation is unfolding. “What am I even supposed to do on a day off? I don’t know anyone in this village.”

“All the more reason to _get_ to know it,” Molly tells him. “Go for a good walk instead of being stuck in here all the time.”

Dobby claps his hands, a delighted look on his face. “Master Draco could go out with Dobby and try to catch frogs, like we did when Master was little!”

Ron snorts. Mrs. Weasley chuckles good-naturedly. Draco, meanwhile, looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I’m not twelve years old anymore, Dobby!” He protests, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Dobby doesn’t listen, instead bounding over to Draco’s side and eagerly tugging at his grey sweater, looking up at him with his wide eyes. “Come, Master Draco! Dobby can show you the village!”

“Sounds excellent!” Molly asserts, before anyone else can say anything. “You two go on and paint the town red. Figuratively of course. Don’t go making any trouble.”

Dobby reaches up and pats Draco on the leg. “Dobby is making sure Master Draco is not getting into trouble, like Dobby always does.”

Harry steals a glance at Ron to find that the other man looks about as gobsmacked as he feels at the sight of Dobby parenting Draco – and Draco not even objecting to it too much.

In fact, at this point, Draco is even smiling a little. And nodding. And even _lowering his hand_ to allow Dobby to take it.

“Okay. We’ll go have a walk, then.”

-

“Molly, please save me,” Harry says dramatically. “Teddy’s birthday party is in less than three weeks. And I haven’t had a single good idea about it so far.”

“You’ve never been terribly creative, dear,” Molly replies unhelpfully. She has installed herself at the large wooden table in the backroom this time, as she drafts up Draco’s contract. “But I suppose any party that doesn’t land the kids in St. Mungo’s will be a success compared to last year’s effort.”

“Ouch.”

Molly smiles up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Tough love, honey.”

“I don’t want the party to be a snooze fest. Teddy already thinks I’m boring.”

“Teddy thinks you are a hero, dear. Why do you think he requested this specific theme?”

Harry wants to shake his head, but he isn’t in the mood to argue his point. Teddy thinks he _was_ a hero. There’s a difference that might seem subtle, but to Harry it’s anything but.

He doesn’t really know what’s wrong with him. This is exactly what he wanted, isn’t it? To move away from everything, to lose his hero reputation, to be just another boring face in the crowd… Why can’t he just be happy that he managed to pull that off, instead of feeling guilty?

-

“So, apparently I’ve been violating all kinds of labour laws,” Harry says when Draco returns that evening around dinner time. “Uh – you gotta give me your vault number and I’ll deposit your salary, and then you’ll have to transfer some of it back to me for staying in that room. Kind of a roundabout way, but Molly will kill me if we don’t do it properly. Good news is, the salary is higher than the price of the room, so you can save up. For stuff like gloves.” He cracks a smile at that final line.

Draco rubs his hands up and down his own arms, looking nervous. “I – er – I don’t have a vault number,” he slowly admits.

Harry turns the fire under his pan of soup a little lower and turns more fully to Draco. “Oh, right. I suppose you wouldn’t. Write to Gringotts tomorrow and open one.”

Draco nods, a contemplative look on his face.

“Is that all right?”

Draco looks up at him, then gives a small smile. “Yeah. Just… It’s been a while. Feels strange.”

Harry nods, suddenly realizing that it might be the first time in Draco’s life that he is actually providing for himself. “How long have you been with Linus?”

Draco jolts as if startled by the question, before folding his arms across his chest, hugging himself. “Five years,” he mutters.

Harry feels a sudden rush of something unpleasant at the idea of Draco spending five years with that guy. He’s not sure why he is suddenly jealous. Probably because it’s a hell of a lot more than Harry ever managed to get out of a relationship. “What does he do, anyways?”

“Owns a hotel in London. Fancy hotel. Muggle, though.”

“You must know a thing or two about running a place like this, then,” Harry says, waving his hand around.

Draco shakes his head. “I didn’t interfere in his business. And I’m not… I mean… I wouldn’t understand it anyways.”

Harry scoffs. “Of course you would. You’re the smartest guy I know.”

Draco pulls out a chair to sit at the wooden table. “I was never that smart. My parents just made me study a lot.”

“Shut up, you’re smart,” Harry informs him. “Pumpkin soup?”

“Sure.”

Harry fills up a bowl and sets it down in front of Draco, taking a seat himself. Draco raises a single eyebrow at him as he reaches for a spoon. “Not a lot of guests tonight?”

“Ron can handle them. What did you do today? You were gone a long time.”

Draco’s grey eyes light up a little, which is a nice thing to see. “Spent a lot of time at Dervish and Banges. They have so many interesting magical instruments. I used to go there all the time back when we were in Hogwarts. I would spend hours there.”

“Really?” Harry smiles. “Because most of us would just get drunk at the three broomsticks or get our fill of Zonko treats.”

“I’m sure you did, you bunch of philistines. There is a different lady working in the shop now. She was charming, showed me a around, talked about some of her inventions. She’s apparently very much into bewitching musical instruments.”

“That’s Missis Planxty,” Harry says. “She’s brilliant, but a little mad.”

“I used to love hexing stuff,” Draco says, his tones nostalgic.

Harry nods at that. He sure as hell remembers about a dozen examples of Draco’s love for hexes. He mostly remembers them being aimed at himself. “Used to?”

Draco shrugs, a dismissive frown on his face. “When you live with a squib… I suppose it would be insensitive to use a lot of magic.”

“Is that why you didn’t even bring your wand on vacation?”

Draco gives a curt nod, but frowns at the same time.

“Can’t believe you spent a whole day with Dobby,” Harry says.

“Oh, I know,” Draco replies, slowly stirring his soup. “Father would have an aneurysm if he were here to see it. But Dobby practically raised me.”

Ron barges in through the red door. “Having a tea party while I’m working my ass off, huh?”

Draco immediately drops his spoon into his soup bowl. “I can come out-“

“Relax, he’s being dramatic,” Harry tells him. “We only had a handful of people coming in this evening.”

“Last couple just left, actually,” Ron informs him. “I figure we might as well close the place up.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Draco asks.

“It’s your day off,” Harry protests.

“I’m sure Mrs. Weasley won’t skin you alive if I just give you a hand for a few minutes.”

Harry hesitates, then gives a nod. “All right, then. If you could take out the trash. Oh, and can you make sure to really close the trashcans properly? I think we have an animal going through them at night. Keep finding little woodchips everywhere around the back door.”

-

“So, what’s your plan, anyway?” Harry suddenly asks the next day.

“My plan…?” Draco echoes as he sets out a tray and pours three glasses of firewhiskey.

“Yeah, I mean… You don’t want to hang around here for too long, right? Even with no working experience, I’m sure you can get a better job with whatever NEWTS you have. Move away from your ex, get a good job and your own place to live.”

Draco has stopped pouring whiskey and now looks at him with a tiny frown. “Are you firing me?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“I’m _not_ firing you,” Harry assures him. “I just think that maybe the reason you’re still here is because part of you wants to get back together with Linus.”

Draco corks the bottle. “Maybe,” he admits reluctantly.

“Right. So I think you need to figure out what you want. Either try to make things work with him, or move on. And I don't think the Hog’s Head fits in either of those scenarios in the long term.”

Draco purses his lips but doesn’t respond.

“And if I may give you some advice,” Harry continues. “Talk to him. You've been together five years, you don't just up and leave after that. I don't know what your differences are, but you might be able to work them out.”

Draco doesn’t answer anymore, instead picking up the tray and turning away to take the drinks to their customers. Harry is left staring at his retreating back.

“Don’t get in the middle of two bickering exes, Harry,” Ron murmurs behind him.

-

One Friday morning, Draco is unpleasantly surprised to find both Harry and Ron in the backroom.

“I thought today was your day off?” Draco asks Ron with a frown.

“Don’t get you wand in a knot, Malfoy. I’m just here to hang out with Teddy this morning and then I’ll go back home.”

Harry nods as he wraps his scarf around his neck. “I’ll be bringing Teddy back with me, around noon. Well in time before pub opens. Can you get some take-out so we have lunch waiting for us when we come back?”

“Take-out? I can just cook…”

“No, no, I’ll leave some money. I don’t want to just give him cold, leftover soup. You know ‘Tarantallegra Tagliatelle’? They make pretty nice pastas, and the place is nearby.”

Draco shakes his head. “Don't be stupid, I can cook something. Think I'll poison you? Just tell me what you want. As long as it’s-”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron cuts in, sardonically. “Why don’t you roast us a salmon. With a honey-mustard glaze. And fancy grilled asparagus. I bet your spoiled arse couldn’t fry an egg. Just order some pasta, Malfoy, it’s not hard.”

“Go puke up slugs, Weasley.”

“Getting real original with the insults, there, ferret.”

“All right!” Harry breaks him, a tired expression on his face. “Weren’t we past this?”

“Old habits,” Ron says, reaching out and clapping Draco on the back.

“Ouch, Weasley! Quit manhandling me.”

“Okay, _now_ you’re just being dramatic.”

“Let’s just go!” Harry firmly says.

-

“I’m gonna be a kick-ass dad,” Ron declares as he pushes Teddy on the swings.

Harry snorts. “Are you basing that on your swing-pushing skills?”

“Among other things.”

“Push harder!” Teddy demands, wriggling his legs.

“Only two weeks until your birthday, Ted,” Harry says. “Are you excited?”

Teddy’s hair turning a bright blue should be enough of a response. “Are there going to be dragons?” The boy asks, excitedly.

Harry winces. “That would be a health and safety hazard.”

“Are there going to be monsters? And heroes?”

“It’s a surprise,” Harry says, because he doesn’t want to say _I have no clue, yet_.

“What would a hero look like?” Ron enquires.

“Harry is a hero,” Teddy declares.

Harry pulls a face. “There’s no such things as heroes,” he informs Teddy. “And if there were, I wouldn’t be one.”

“I’m a hero,” Ron protests. “Did I ever tell you about the time I escaped a shitload of giant spiders?”

“A million times,” Teddy says. “Stop pushing! I wanna go look for bugs.”

Ron chuckles as he helps Teddy slow the swing down so the boy can jump off. Teddy takes off towards a patch of bushes and ducks down, disappearing from sight.

Ron saunters back to the picnic table where Harry was sitting, and flops down opposite Harry.

“You _will_ be a kick-ass dad,” Harry assures him. “I can’t wait to see how you’ll handle it.”

“I’ll still be around the Hog’s Head as much as I can.”

“Just take all the time you need.”

“And leave you to look at Malfoy’s face all day? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“He has a nice face.”

Ron lifts his eyebrows a little, looking up and gauging Harry’s expression. “Does he, now?”

“You know what I mean. You should be nicer to him.”

“I think I’m being very nice, all things considered. And I’m not going to quit the job, all right? I know you think I’m going to quit once I have a baby. It’ll be different, but I won’t quit. I’m enjoying this job way too much.”

“You would enjoy it,” Harry says, glumly. “You’re actually _good_ at it.”

Ron shakes his head. “I’m shit at it. Godawful. But I’m having a hell of a time, wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“I found a bug!” Teddy yells out, his head popping up.

-

The three of them trudge back to the Hog’s Head when it is almost noon. Harry pulls the door open, frowning at the tiny woodchips scattered across the doormat. Before he can open his mouth to ask Ron if he knows where they come from, he sees something that makes him stop dead in his tracks.

The table in the backroom is set with several steaming dishes, and at the head of the table stands Draco, arms firmly crossed, eyes blazing with something fierce.

“Draco?”

“I _made_ lunch,” Draco says, emphasizing the word ‘made’.

“What?”

Draco points at the different dishes. “It's roasted salmon, with a honey-mustard glaze. Gratin Dauphinois. Sesame grilled asparagus.”

Ron stares at him, mouth slightly hanging open.

“I mean, that _is_ what you wanted, right?” Draco asks in his most innocent tones.

“Wow, this is so amazing!” Harry exclaims excitedly, stepping closer to the table. “Did you really make all this?”

“No, Potter, I got Dobby in here to make them for me,” Draco snaps back.

Ron scoffs. “That would be just like you.” Ignoring all rules of common decency, he spears a piece of salmon with a fork and gobbles it down, ignoring Draco’s death glare. He moans as he chews. “For fuck’s sake, Malfoy. You’re a goddamn chef!”

“Ron!” Harry squawks, quickly covering Teddy’s ears with his hands.

Ron ignores him. “You did the glazing and everything!”

“You like it, huh?” Draco asks, viciously.

“Hell yeah, haven't had food like this since I left my mum's house.”

Draco seems slightly taken aback at actually receiving a positive comment from Ron, but recovers after a few seconds. “Well, that's right! So next time, keep your mouth shut!”

Ron stares at him. “What, you did all this because I said you were spoiled? Merlin, Malfoy, what are you going to do when I call you lazy? Repaint all the walls?”

“Go to hell!” Draco snaps.

“Hey – can you cook for us?” Harry excitedly asks.

That question seems to _really_ set Draco off. “What do you think I JUST did, POTTER?”

“Okay, first of all, it's 'Harry'. Stop it with all the last names. You too, Ron. We're not at Hogwarts anymore. We're on the same team now. Second, I meant - like - for the pub. You know, so we can serve more than soup. We can serve a daily special every day so you can make whatever you want.”

Draco closes his mouth, quickly going from an angry red to a somewhat pale colour.

“You can pick any dish you want,” Harry continues, feeling taken aback at Draco’s sudden change in demeanour. “I’ll give you a raise?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ron cuts in. “Now we want him to _stay?_ ”

“He won’t stay,” Harry says, waving his hand. “But just for now, until I start my cooking class. Oh - hey! Maybe you can teach me!”

Draco suddenly looks awfully insecure. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I’m not… I mean… I don’t think people would want to _pay_ for this.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Ron asks around a mouthful of potatoes.

“…and I’m not a good teacher,” Draco continues, picking at a loose thread in his sweater, his head ducked between his shoulders.

Ron waves his fork around. “Look, you can just try it a few times. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. No pressure!”

Draco considers that for a moment. “Yeah, okay,” he finally agrees. “I suppose I can try.”

Harry sends Ron a grateful smile.

“All right,” Ron says, getting up with a regretful look on his face. “Much as I’d like to stay and eat _literally_ all of this… I’d better get going. Promised ‘Mione to look at paint samples with her.” He pulls a face. “I told her to go red and gold, but she doesn’t want to put any pressure on the kid about Hogwarts houses or something lame like that.”

“Completely lame,” Harry agrees with a smirk. “Say hello to her.”

“Of course. Bye, Teddy, have fun today.”

“Weasley and Granger have a kid?” Draco asks as soon as Ron is out the door.

Harry turns to him and lifts a hand to scratch his beard. “Almost. She’s pregnant.”

“Huh,” Draco merely says, before sitting down at the table and lifting the serving spoon. “Salmon, Teddy?”


	4. A bad situation

Harry immediately recognizes the car when its wheels touch the ground right outside the Hog’s Head. The engine dies, and the door is thrown open. Linus steps out and makes a beeline for the front door of the Hog’s Head.

Harry nods at him when he approaches the bar. “Evening.”

“Hey,” Linus says, with a somewhat sheepish smile. He nervously runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry – I know you’re almost closing. I have a question that might seem strange, but… I was here in this pub about a two weeks ago with my boyfriend. We had a fight and I left without him. I haven’t seen him or heard from him since then. I’m pretty worried. Do you remember him? Do you have any idea where he went? He has blond hair and -”

Harry holds up a hand. He knows that Draco might not thank him for this, but he also knows that Draco will have to talk to Linus sooner or later. Time to do the right thing. “Draco is here,” he tells the man. “He’s in the back.”

To say that Linus looks surprised, would be an understatement. The man seems to be at a loss for words, but Harry sees relief flooding his face. “He’s here? Really?”

Harry waves him through. “Just – go ahead. Go ahead, talk to him.”

“Thanks, man,” Linus says, rushing towards the back room.

-

Harry stays out of the way for as long as he can, but once all the chairs are cleared away, there is nothing left to do but clean up in the back.

Once there, he finds that Linus and Draco are outside. The backdoor is ajar and Harry can make out Linus’ muttered voice.

He takes out his wand to turn on the stove, when he hears a noise that catches his attention. A whimper. A distressed voice.

He turns, frowning at the backdoor. He moves closer to the door and peeks out.

Linus has backed Draco into a wall and has one of Draco’s wrists in a steel grip, his nails digging into the skin.

“Linus – let me go. You’re hurting me,” Draco pleads. He’s clearly trying to remain calm, but his voice is trembling.

“They stop being difficult and get in the fucking car,” Linus hisses.

“ _You_ threw _me_ out!”

“I was just setting you straight because you were being a brat as usual,” Linus growls.

“I’m not coming back. I’m on my own now.”

“You’ve tried that before, haven’t you? Didn't work so well then, did it? You always come crawling back, and what else can you expect? Look at you - what was your plan? Washing dishes and unclogging toilets… You should be grateful that I'm even _letting_ you come back home you ungrateful little shit.”

“You don’t own me!” Draco weakly protests. He struggles against Linus’ grip, but Linus only responds by grabbing his other wrist, too, and pinning them both down.

“Except that I absolutely do,” he says, menacingly.

Harry pushes the door open further, intentionally making a noise. Linus immediately releases Draco’s wrists and turns to him.

“Everything okay here?” Harry asks.

Linus’ wide smile is plastered onto his face again. “Yes, thank you for your help. Uhm - we'll be heading home now. You'll have to find a new employee - I'm sure you understand.” He chuckles. Harry smiles in return, but his eyes flash to Draco, who is still huddled against the wall, rubbing his wrists.

“Sorry if it's an inconvenience,” Linus says in a fatherly tone. “He gets these ideas in his head sometimes.” He turns back to Draco. “Well, shall we go?”

Draco doesn’t respond. Linus frowns at him, then turns back to Harry. “Could you give us another moment?”

“It’s cold out here,” Harry says. “Why don’t you talk inside? Customers have just left.”

“Oh – oh, no, we’re fine,” Linus protests.

“I insist.”

-

Draco feels like his insides are frozen solid. The large glass of butterbeer in front of him is still untouched. He feels like he might throw up if he takes a sip. Harry has pointed them to a booth in the corner of the pub, and Draco feels safer knowing that he’s watching them from behind the bar, but also very uneasy about sharing the booth with a clearly enraged Linus. Oh, other people might not notice that he is enraged, but Draco has learned to recognize the tell-tale signs, and it’s written all over Linus’ face.

The man takes another swig of his beer. “You know, the longer you drag this out, the more unpleasant this is going to be for you in the long run.”

“I’m not going back with you,” Draco repeats. It’s the same sentence he has been repeating for the last fifteen minutes. It’s as if his brain has forgotten how to say anything else.

Linus leers at him. “Do I need to remind you of the last time you ran away?”

“You mean the last time you kicked me out?” Draco hisses.

Linus huffs. “You have such a knack for blowing things out of proportion. Always playing the victim card when you’re the one making scenes wherever we go.”

Draco doesn’t respond anymore. Linus angrily downs the rest of his beer and gets up. He leans closer to Draco. “Mark my words,” he breathes into Draco’s ear. “Your ass will be back in my house by the end of this week, and trust me, you'll _really_ have to make an effort to get me back in a good mood.”

And then he turns away. Draco barely registers Linus lifting a hand at Harry in greeting and saying: “No luck this time. But he’ll come around!”

Draco waits until the door has slammed, then slowly lets out a breath. His legs feel shaky, but he knows he can’t let it show. He doesn’t need Harry to become more suspicious than he probably already is. As calmly as possible, he stands and grabs the two glasses off the table. On his way back to the bar, he grabs a few more stray glasses from tables here and there. He steps behind the bar and puts the glasses in the sink, then turns to see Harry still staring at him.

“What?”

Harry shrugs, squinting his eyes. “Just seemed like you were fighting a bit.”

Draco keeps his voice light. “Well, what do you expect? We broke up.”

He turns his back on Harry and takes out his wand for the dishwashing spell.

-

“Tea?” Harry asks once the place is cleaned up.

He expects Draco to refuse, but Draco gives a quiet nod.

Harry nods too, and grabs the kettle. Draco sits down at the table, carefully running a hand across the wooden surface. “I know what you want to ask me,” he murmurs quietly.

Harry doesn’t bother denying it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he responds, making sure to keep his voice calm and light.

“Doesn’t matter,” Draco muttered, a defeated expression on his face. “You’ve seen him. Let’s be real. Linus is an arse. He’s paranoid and he’s controlling. But I had nowhere else to go and I felt like I owed him, so I just stayed with him.”

“Why do you feel like you owe him?”

Draco frowns down at his hands for a moment. “I… I can’t tell you everything,” he says.

“That’s okay.”

“Let’s just say life wasn’t easy after the war ended, and Linus got me out of a bad situation. I didn’t see any alternatives. Until I ended up here. And now I don’t want to go back.”

“You _shouldn’t_ go back to him,” Harry agrees, giving Draco a steady look. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

He fills up the teapot and carries it to the table. “Cherry Blossom?”

Draco nods slightly. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

Harry assumes it is not just for the tea. “You could have told me,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t have let him in today.”

Draco actually shivers a little. “Yeah, well…” he murmurs, shifting in his seat. “I’m just used to people using information against me. So I didn’t like the idea of you knowing how much I actually need this job. How much I need that room. But – ah – I suppose you won’t blackmail me. Because you’re the Great Harry Potter and all.” He finally smiles.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I am not. Not anymore, at least.”

“Yeah, you are,” Draco tells him.

Harry decides not to argue his point any further. There are more pressing matters at hand right now than the discussion of whether or not he is still ‘great’ when he hasn’t contributed to society in years.

“What was your fight even about?” He asks. “When Linus left you behind here?”

With a sigh, Draco folds his hands together. “He… tends to get paranoid. Quickly. I don’t know – I guess he caught you looking at me strange and thought that that _must_ mean we were sleeping together.”

Harry snorts.

“And then he finds out we actually _knew_ each other and shit really hit the fan.”

Harry cocks his head. “You admitted you knew me?”

“Hell, no. But you called me by my name, so…”

“Oh, right. Shit. Sorry about that.”

Draco exhales slowly, then looks up at Harry, managing a smirk. “Don’t be. Getting left behind in this dump was probably the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“Do you want to pick up your stuff from Linus’ place?” Harry asks. “I’ll go with you if you want.”

He sees a flicker of fear pass through Draco’s grey eyes.

“I could also go alone. Pick them up for you,” he offers. “If you tell me where to go.”

-

Early the next morning, Harry finds himself in what is probably one of the fanciest neighbourhoods in London.

Linus’ house has a perfectly groomed lawn, surrounded by a heavy metal gate. Harry knows he is in the right place as soon as he recognizes the flying car in the driveway.

Feeling determined, he pushes the gate open and marches up to the front door. As he rings the doorbell with his left hand, his right hand stays on the wand in his pocket. Based on what he has recently learned about Linus, he wouldn’t be surprised if the man kicks up a fuss.

The door opens, and Linus lifts his eyebrows at him, his face still friendly. “Yes?” He asks, and Harry realizes the man doesn’t recognize him.

“I’m Harry,” he offers. “I own the Hog’s Head. You came in last night to talk to Draco?”

The smile disappears from Linus’ face. “Oh yeah. Sorry – I’m not good with faces. You here to talk about Draco? Come in, come in.”

He seems to hope that Harry will bring him some good news. “Thank you,” Harry says, stepping into the hallway. He doesn’t wait for an invitation, but pushes straight on to the living room. At least that’ll make it harder for Linus to kick him out. The living room is all pastel colours and matching furniture. It looks like a picture from the catalogue of a furniture shop.

“Has he said anything about me?” Linus asks, stepping into the living room, too.

Harry gives a shrug, the corners of his mouth tilting down. “Nothing specific,” he lies. “But he asked me to come pick up the rest of his stuff.”

Linus freezes, his eyes harden. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, not feeling sorry at all. “I think he wants to move on. So I’m here to pick up his stuff.” He pulls at the strap of his large bag. “If you’ll give it to me, that is. Draco mentioned you paid for all his clothes, so just FYI, he says he’ll understand if you want to keep them. But since they are not your size anyways, I figured you might as well let him have them.”

Linus inhales loudly through his nose. “Oh, you figured that? Listen mate, I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with here. Draco _will_ come back to me. He runs away all the time, and he always comes crawling back. Don’t let yourself get dragged into his little games. He’s manipulative, and he’s only doing this to get my attention.”

“If that is the case, then you should be glad to be rid of him,” Harry curtly replies. “Just let me know if I can take his clothes or not?”

“No!” Linus bites out. “I bought those clothes for him. I own them. If he wants those clothes so badly, he’ll simply have to come home, won’t he?”

“Fine,” Harry says with a shrug. “Let’s just have Draco’s wand, then?”

“What?”

“His wand. He didn’t have it on him, so I’m assuming it’s somewhere in the house. Could you go grab it for me?”

Linus seems to be gritting his teeth for a few seconds. “Sure,” he finally says, with a smile that couldn’t look faker. He turns on his heel and marches from the room.

Not trusting the man to not snap Draco’s wand in half in his fury, Harry immediately jumps to attention and follows Linus, up the wide staircase, through a heavy double door into another catalogue-picture bedroom.

Linus throws an annoyed look at Harry, before opening a closet door and digging through a box of balled up socks, finally retrieving a black box. “There,” he says, thrusting it at Harry.

Harry opens the box. A wand about 10" long, made of hawthorn wood, with a snake carved into the handle. Just as Draco described. “Settled,” He says, plastering on a friendly smile as he shuts the box. “I’ll be going then. To be clear, Draco will be moving on, now. I suggest you do the same.”

“You know, I gave him a better life than he’s ever going to have,” Linus suddenly says. “He didn’t have to do a days’ work. I took care of everything. And he has everything he could want. I have an indoor pool. I have a spa. I have a library – Draco loves the library. Don’t tell me he doesn’t want to come back here.”

“It’s his own decision.”

“It’s your decision, too,” Linus argues. “You’re the one who hired him. You’re _enabling_ him.”

“I just needed a hand, and he wanted the job,” Harry bites back, feeling annoyance flare up inside him.

Linus sighed. “Look, I realize that it would be inconvenient for you to fire him. But I’ll compensate you. How much do you want?”

“Let me get this straight,” Harry says slowly. “You want to pay me to fire Draco?”

Linus spreads his hands. “I'm trying to make him see reason. He has dragged this out long enough, I'm sure you don't even actually want him around there. You're... trying to be a friend, I understand, but this is not what he needs right now. You want him to wash plates for the rest of his life?”

Harry huffs. “Of course not. He needs some time to figure things out and then move on to something better.”

“Like what?” Linus bites out. “Kid never finished school, doesn’t have any NEWTs, any diplomas. Zip. Diddly-squat.”

Harry tries to hide his surprise at that information, but he is obviously not successful, because Linus gives a smug grin. “Didn't tell you, did he? He dropped out in his last year and never bothered to get back into it. Living on my money is the best he's ever going to get. If he insists on ‘making it’ on his own, washing plates is about as far as he'll come, especially with _his_ last name. In fact, he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t end up worse than that. Did you know that he was a homeless prostitute when I found him? I gave him everything, _everything_. And he’s never going to get that anywhere else.” He nods at Harry, seeming satisfied with his own speech. “I’ll give you some time to think it over. And then I trust you’ll do the right thing.”

-

Harry apparates back to Hogsmeade, landing neatly next to the back door. He peeks in. The backroom is quiet. Harry steps inside and quickly makes his way to the little office. Once inside, he drops the still empty bag to the ground and sits in the chair behind the desk. He never really comes in here. This is Molly’s territory. But he doesn’t want to talk to Draco just yet. He needs to process everything Linus said, first.

The rumours have always said that Draco was finishing his NEWTs somewhere in Italy with a private teacher, which sounded just like him. Why would Draco not want to finish his education? Maybe it would be difficult for an ex-Death eater to find a tutor, even abroad. Maybe he hadn’t had the money, and then once he got together with Linus he may have figured he didn’t need to finish his education. But what a waste! Draco had always been one of the smartest guys in their year. And he had been ambitious, too. It doesn’t seem like he would be content to spend his days sitting around Linus’ big mansion and getting spa treatments. Harry frowns contemplatively as twirls a pen in his fingers.

It is of course perfectly possible that Linus lied in an attempt to get Harry on his side. Or at least, it is very possible that Linus only told partial truths. Then again… what had Draco said yesterday? ‘Linus got me out of a bad situation’. Harry had assumed that by ‘situation’ Draco was referring to himself getting in some hot water, like maybe he got into a fight and Linus had jumped in. Not that Draco was referring to his living conditions as a whole.

-

After a few more minutes of contemplation, Harry steps out, only to immediately find Draco standing in the backroom, folding the laundry with precise wand motions. Harry stops in his tracks, his hand still on the doorknob.

Draco looks surprised to see him, lowering his wand so that a towel drops to the table in a heap. “Hey. I didn’t hear you come back. Did everything work out?”

“More or less,” Harry says slowly. He walks forward and drops the bag onto the table. “He didn’t want to give me your clothes.”

Draco hums and waves his wand again, making the towel fold itself neatly. “I figured as much. They’re _his_ clothes, really. I suppose I’m lucky he didn’t demand for me to send back the ones I have here right now.”

“I still think it’s pretty childish of him,” Harry says, frowning. “It’s not like he has any use for them. Anyway, all I brought back was your own wand.” He takes out the black box and hands it to Draco.

Draco takes the box with a duck of his head. He opens it and takes in a deep breath when he lays eyes on his own wand. He carefully plucks the wand from the box. “Thank you,” he murmurs, running his fingers over the smooth wood and the carving in the handle.

“Happy to help,” Harry says, honestly. “I like the carving. I didn’t know Ollivander made them like that. Assuming you bought it from him.”

“What, the man who spent months in my parents’ dungeon being tortured?” Draco asks dryly. “Yes, he sure was more than happy to provide me with a new wand.”

It is the first time either of them mentions something that happened during the war. Harry presses his lips together as he tries to quell the queasy feeling he always gets when the topic comes up.

“Shit,” Draco mutters, his eyes wandering around Harry’s face. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have brought that up. Uhh, the wand belonged to my grandfather. I wouldn’t dare show my face in Ollivanders wandshop, and I didn’t have money for a wand anyways.”

Harry simply nods, pulling out a chair to sit at the table.

“Sorry,” Draco repeats.

Harry waves a hand. “Don’t sweat it.”

Draco eyes him for a moment longer, before nodding and returning to folding the laundry, this time using his own wand. He twirls it around with fluid motions, the tip dancing through the air. Harry notices how extremely neat Draco’s folding spells turn out. He knows from experience how specific the wand movements need to be to pull that off. “You’re good at that,” he compliments randomly.

Draco blinks up at him, then raises his eyebrows. “I’m good at folding laundry?”

“Well,” Harry murmurs sheepishly, “I mean… to fold something that neatly you need really good fine motor skills.”

Draco’s eyebrows lift even higher and Harry feels a blush creeping over his face. He is aware that it is a bit of a dumb thing to praise someone over. But after hearing the derogatory comments from Linus today, he simply feels the urge to compliment Draco. Because he has a feeling that Draco hasn’t been hearing them often.

“When is your birthday?” He suddenly asks.

“Sorry?” Draco asks, blinking quickly at the sudden shift in topic.

“Your birthday. When is it?”

“Why do you care?” It comes out a little hostile.

Harry feels taken aback. “I just thought I should know. You know, so I can get you a card or something.”

Draco slowly exhales, focussing his attention back on folding the laundry. “Right. Sorry. You don’t… you don’t have to be so nice to me all the time.”

“I haven’t been _that_ nice to you.”

“Yeah, you have,” Draco mutters. He folds the last towel and pockets his wand. Picking up the pile of towels and moving to the sink to stuff the towels into the cabinet above the stove.

A glance at the stove reminds Harry: “Have you thought about your daily special?”

“My what?”

“Daily special. You know, you were going to cook for us?”

“Oh. Right. I _have_ thought about that _._ And, no.”

“What?”

Draco lifts his chin. “I changed my mind. I’m not doing it.”

Harry hasn’t heard that steadfast tone from Draco since Hogwarts. “Why not?”

“Malfoy’s don’t cook,” Draco informs him haughtily.

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“You pretend to be the same little snot you were at Hogwarts. But it doesn’t work. Because you’re not like that anymore. Now, _why_ do you not want to cook?”

Draco chews his bottom lip, dropping his façade. “What if it goes wrong?”

“What _if_ it goes wrong?”

“Will you fire me?”

“Only if all the guests die from food poisoning,” Harry jokes.

That only makes Draco look more unnerved. “I don’t think I should do this. I’ll mess it up…”

“Look, if you’re this uncomfortable with it… it’s fine, you don’t have to do it. I just thought you might like to do it, since you’re really good at it.”

“I’m not actually that good. You just have low standards,” Draco mutters.

Harry is pretty sure that Draco actually _is_ that good. But he doesn’t want Draco to feel out of his depth. “It’s fine,” he says. “Forget the cooking.”

Draco looks relieved. “Thanks. I’ll get back out there, then” he turns to leave through the red door, but holds back at the last moment. “My birthday is June 5th, by the way.”

Harry smiles, nods. “I’ll remember it.”


	5. The dragon tamer

“Any ideas?”

Ron sniffs, pulling the lid off one of the trashcans and peeking inside. “Probably a trash-beaver.”

“ _Trash-beaver_?”

“Tiny purple animals with huge teeth. They leave woodchips around trashcans. If you catch one, it will fulfil three wishes for you.”

Harry gapes at Ron, then narrows his eyes when a grin appears on the other man’s face. “You’re having me on.”

“You’re just as bad as Hermione,” Ron gleefully informs him. “For a smart one, she can be really gullible.”

Harry lightly punches him in the shoulder. “Do you know what is causing this or not, dipshit?”

Ron shrugs. “No idea. But I wouldn’t worry about it. Don’t know where the wood is coming from, but it seems harmless. I’ve never seen many animals in our trash. Though that might change if we start actually serving food. Leftovers attract vermin, no way to stop them.”

“I don’t think we’ll be serving food for a while.”

“What about Malfoy?”

“Draco,” Harry corrects him. “And he changed his mind.”

“Why?”

Harry shrugs. “He’s not comfortable with it.”

Ron sniffs. “Well, he’ll have to learn to be comfortable with it.”

“Lay off him, Ron,” Harry says sternly. “If he doesn’t want to do it, he doesn’t have to.”

“You’re too nice to him,” Ron informs him. “And sometimes that’s good, but with _his_ anxiety issues, it’s not what he needs.” And he pushes inside through the backdoor. Harry quickly follows.

Draco is sitting at the large, wooden table, reading. Ron grabs a paper and pen from a drawer, and then throws them on the table in front of Draco, who looks up from his book. Ron puts both hands on the surface of the table and leans forward. Draco leans back, a wary frown appearing on his face as he glances between the paper and Ron’s serious expression.

“Malfoy,” Ron says steadily, “how about you write us up a list of ingredients you will need to cook for us today?”

Draco clenches his hands around the book. “I told Harry, I’m not doing it,” he hisses.

Ron huffs. “Come on, Malfoy. We all know you can cook. And we all know you _want_ to. It’s more exciting than just cleaning every day.”

“I prefer to clean,” Draco mumbles, picking at the pages of the book.

“No, you don’t,” Ron says firmly. “You’re Draco bloody Malfoy. You were a seeker, and a prefect, and you probably have about twenty NEWTs in your back pocket. Don’t tell me you’re happy to clean when you can do more. And you don’t have to get your wand in a knot about it. No one is asking you to perform a miracle. What’s the easiest thing you can make? The _easiest_ thing?”

Draco looks at Ron, and Ron looks back at him for what feels like eternity. Finally, Draco sniffs and lowers his gaze to his book again. “I don’t know. Maybe a salad.”

“Salad it is,” Ron says, sliding the pencil and paper closer to Draco. “Let us know what you need. I’ll go out and buy it before we open.”

-

Draco should have known. He should have realized that he wouldn’t be able to work at the Hog’s Head for weeks without ever running into anyone familiar.

Why couldn’t it just be Flitwick, Slughorn or Sprout, though? Why does it _have_ to be Headmistress McGonagall who steps into the pub that afternoon, just as Harry and Ron are both in the backroom and Draco is manning the bar alone?

Draco flees through the red door before she can spot him.

Harry and Ron are both bent over a thick, dusty cookbook and look up at him when he stumbles in. Harry raises his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“McGonagall is here.”

“Oh, how nice. It’s been a while. Does she want a brandy?”

“Don’t know,” Draco says, unnerved.

Harry looks somewhat amused now. “So, go take her order. She won’t bite you.”

“You sure about that, Potter?”

Harry is about to rise from his seat. “Want me to-“

“No!” Ron cuts in, pointing a finger at Draco. “Get your ass over to her table, Malfoy. Stop being a wuss and take her order.”

With lead in his shoes, Draco returns to the pub. McGonagall has installed herself by the window in a corner and is perusing their menu, a stern frown firmly in place.

Draco shuffles forward, the short trip from the bar to her table seeming to take an eternity. McGonagall looks up to him when he is close, and Draco can see her eyes widening behind her glasses.

“Uh – hello!” Draco says, wringing his hands together.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco can only nod, his breathing now too shallow to be able to form words.

McGonagall takes off her glasses as if expecting to then see someone else instead of Draco. “Hagrid mentioned something in passing about you working here, but I was positive that he had misunderstood.”

Draco doesn’t even know how Hagrid of all people would know he is living here. Yet another person whom he would very much prefer to avoid, considering the whole hippogriff-debacle.

“Are the boys really serving a salad, now?”

“Yes,” Draco says, jumping to attention. “With roasted pumpkin, spinach and goat cheese. Actually, I make it, so I understand if you don’t…” He trails off, unsure how he even intended to finish that sentence.

“Are you planning to poison me, Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall asks, giving him a piercing look.

“No! No, no – no.”

“Then I’ll have that salad,” she says briskly, folding the menu. “And a nice brandy.”

-

Harry has taken out McGonagall’s favourite bottle of Brandy and moved into the pub to have a drink with her. Draco makes the salad, trying keep his hands from trembling too much.

“You’re not on death row, Malfoy,” Ron says, leaning back in his chair.

“Might as well be,” Draco mutters. “Mc-bloody-Gonagall… Most likely she’ll hex me if she doesn’t like the taste.”

Ron snorts and stands from the table. “I’ll help you,” he offers. “Tell me what to do. And then if McGonagall complains, you can tell her I did it… How did you learn to cook anyways?”

“Dobby taught me when I was young.”

“Really? How bizarre.”

Draco gives a mild shrug. “Who else would have taught me?”

“You parents?” Ron suggests in a dry tone.

“The only thing my parents taught me is that ‘Malfoy’s don’t cook’.”

“But they were fine with their house-elf teaching you instead?”

“Oh, I’m sure they would have objected quite vehemently, if they had been aware of it.”

Ron gives him a sideway glance. “You know, most teens when they get rebellious, they pick fights or smoke weed. They don’t take a cooking class.”

The corners of Draco’s mouth quirk upwards reluctantly.

“Whadduya know,” Ron says. “You _can_ smile. Didn’t know your face _had_ that ability.”

“Sod off, Weasel. Just wash the spinach.”

-

“Just in time,” Ron says when Harry returns to the backroom. “Salad is done.”

“You take it out,” Harry tells Draco. “She wants to talk to you.”

“What? Why?” Draco squeaks, dropping the spoon he was holding and looking at Harry with wide eyes.

“Well, since no one apparently wants to talk to _me_ , I’ll just go have a piss,” Ron says.

Harry steps aside to let him pass, and then reaches out a hand, gently laying it on Draco’s upper arm. “Relax,” he murmurs.

“How am I supposed to relax when you’re sending me into the lion’s den, Potter?” Draco asks, firmly crossing his arms across his chest.

Harry’s hand slides down to Draco’s lower arms and he pulls them down gently to unfold them. “You were her student,” he says. “She just wants to catch up.” His hand moves down to Draco’s and he squeezes Draco’s fingers. “People aren’t out to hurt you, you know.”

Draco looks up to gaze into Harry’s friendly, green eyes. “Oh, sure. With me having always been her favourite student and all.”

Harry’s lips quirk into a smile. “Just talk to her a little,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

Draco wonders if Harry is realizing that he is still holding onto Draco’s hand.

-

“Interesting career choice, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall says as she spears a piece of pumpkin with her fork. “If I remember correctly, you had the ambition to become a healer.”

Draco shifts in his seat. “Yes but… I never took my NEWTs.”

McGonagall frowns at him. “Well, then you’ll need to go up for them.”

Draco shakes his head. “I don’t think I could do them.”

“Why on earth would you think that? You had the second highest OWL scores in your year.”

Draco grimaces at that. He hardly needs the reminder that bloody Granger was the only one who bested him. His parents already lorded that over him enough.

“I just don’t think I’m as smart anymore.”

“That is a completely preposterous notion, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall briskly informs him. “You had a near perfect score in potions. If I’m not mistaken, the highest score since Severus himself took his OWLs. I will not have you wasting that kind of talent.”

Draco huffs out a laugh. “What would you suggest?”

McGonagall sets her fork down, folding her hands and giving Draco a calculating look.

“Mrs Pomfrey is looking to retire,” she finally says.

Draco blinks. “So, what, you want me to take over her job right now? From washing plates straight to re-growing bones?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Malfoy. I’m talking about an apprenticeship. Poppy is not in any rush to leave. You’d get boarding at the school, support Madam Pomfrey in her work. If you study on your own time, you could take the NEWTs with our seventh-year students at the end of the year. You’re more than intelligent enough to pull that off.”

A sudden wave of dizziness overtakes Draco at the mere thought of taking all of that on at once. “I’m fine here,” he tells her quickly. “You… you don’t want me up at that school. You don’t want to hire a Malfoy. You’ll just get complaints from parents.”

“Take a few days to consider it,” Professor McGonagall advises him.

-

That evening, after the pub is closed, Draco asks Harry to come up to his room because he ‘wants to show Harry something’. Harry isn’t really sure why that makes him feel a little nervous, but he follows Draco up the spiral staircase either way, and they step into the room that Harry hasn’t been in since he prepared it for Draco’s first night here.

“You covered up the painting?”

Draco looks up at the sheet he hung in front of the painting in his room on his first night here. “Yeah, the girl in the painting creeped me out,” he says. “Do you mind?”

“Nah,” Harry says. “She was… the previous owner’s sister. I could hang it somewhere else if you prefer.”

“No, that’s fine. It’s _your_ room.”

“No, it’s your room.”

“Except really it’s your room.”

Harry waves his hand, tired of arguing. “What did you want to show me?”

Draco sits on his bed and leans over, taking out a few flyers that were hidden between the mattress and the wall.

“Secret stash?” Harry jokes.

Draco colours a little. “Force of habit, I suppose,” he murmurs, pulling his legs up on the bed and lying down on his back, warily looking up at Harry while he fiddles with the flyers. “Just tell me if you think this is a stupid idea, all right?”

Harry sits down on the edge of the bed and holds out a hand. Draco hesitates for a moment, then hands the flyers over.

Harry turns the flyers over in his hands. They all seem to be advertising independent courses preparing the student for a NEWT in potions.

“I never took my NEWTs,” Draco confesses. Harry already knew that, of course. He decides not to question Draco on the whole ‘Italian tutor cover-up story’, but instead focus on the flyers in his hand. “You want to take them now?”

“Well, just the one to start with. I just want to see if… if I can manage. I don’t want to take on too much at once. I smuggled them from Berties and Botts one time.”

“ _Smuggled?_ ” Harry repeats, “They’re free flyers, aren’t they?”

A caught-out look creeps onto Draco’s face, as if he said something he hadn’t meant to, and Harry suddenly realizes why. “You wanted to go, but Linus didn’t let you, is that it?”

Draco flushes and averts his eyes, pressing his lips together.

After the silence has lingered between them a few moments longer, Draco starts collecting the flyers again, a frown on his face. He rearranges them all into a pile, snatching the one Harry was holding from his hand.

“What?” Harry asks.

Draco sniffs, but doesn’t respond.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Draco mutters. “I just don’t want to talk about Linus.”

“All right,” Harry says, but he carefully pries Draco’s fingers off the pile of flyers. “Don’t put them away, though – please? Let’s think about this. You want to go, right?”

“I guess,” Draco admits, allowing himself to be pulled back into the conversation. “But not for a while. I need enough money first.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Harry offers easily.

“I don’t want that,” Draco firmly states, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want that.”

Harry nods. “Okay. I can get that. How about if it's a loan? You can pay me back once you have a proper job.”

Draco hesitates, glancing down at the flyers. “I'll think about it.” He looks up at Harry again. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For not making me feel like such an idiot all the time. You’re so nice, Harry.” His warm hand lands on Harry’s knee.

Harry swallows. “You deserve someone who is nice, you know,” he says softly.

Draco gives a dismissive frown. “Oh, yeah? What have I ever done to deserve someone nice?”

“You’re beautiful.” Harry admits, feeling his ears go red.

Draco’s eyes fly up to meet his. He looks startled for a moment. But then, a mischievous expression creeps onto his face. “I know that, Potter,” he drawls. “I’m bloody gorgeous. I’m sex on legs.”

Harry snorts.

“I was talking about, you know, being a _good person_.” Draco lifts his right hand off Harry’s knee and puts it on his inner left forearm, where the dark mark is hiding under his sleeve.

“You know I don’t care about that.”

Draco gives him a searching look. “How can you not?”

Harry shrugs, reaching out his hand again, and pushing Draco’s right hand away from his left forearm, putting his own hand on it, instead. “I just don’t. This doesn’t define you. All that matters is the choices you make next. If you get your NEWTs, become a healer… You’ll do so much more for people than I’ve ever done.”

Draco slowly sits up again, which has the – not entirely unwanted – consequence that his face is now very, _very_ close to Harry’s. His grey eyes search Harry’s face. “You’re aware that you’re pretty hot, too, right?”

Harry rears back a little. “What? No, I’m not. I’m too short, and my hair is messy, and my glasses are dumb.”

“Hmmm,” Draco considers, cocking his head a little. “Yes, I think different frames would suit you better. But you’re fit, and your eyes are so damn beautiful, and Merlin’s knickers, that _beard…_ Just kiss me already.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, Potter.”

“Draco… you and Linus _just_ broke up.”

“Yeah, well, I never loved him,” Draco says, and Harry wonders how he can say something so heart-breaking so casually. “Do you want to kiss me or not?”

Harry wants to. His eyes flick down to Draco’s lips and he swallows around a lump in his throat. He feels frozen in place. But then Draco leans forward and presses his lips against Harry’s, and Harry melts. It’s nothing like anyone else Harry has ever kissed. It’s raw and sincere, and Draco’s lips are _so_ soft.

Harry hums before breaking away, slowly opening his eyes. He lifts a hand to gently brush Draco’s hair back. “So – uh – you and I are kissing, now?”

“Not _right_ now,” Draco points out.

“Merlin, you’re even being feisty when we’re making out…” Harry mutters. Then, he puts his hand flat against Draco’s chest and slowly pushes him down until Draco’s back hits the mattress.

He wants to lean in to kiss again - kiss a _lot_ more - but in that moment, he sees a flicker of something pass through Draco’s eyes, as if he is uncomfortable with Harry looming over him like that.

A moment later, it is gone, and Harry thinks he may have imagined it. But he rolls off Draco either way, instead stretching out next to him on the bed, quietly observing Draco for a moment.

“What?” Draco asks.

Harry gives a mild shrug. “Nothing.” He doesn’t want to bring Linus up again, but he suddenly finds himself wondering if Linus is the kind of guy who would respect Draco’s boundaries. Probably not. “You seem a little nervous.”

Draco rolls onto his side to face him, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was just… suddenly thinking about Weasley. And the Weaslette. And Mrs. Weasley. Basically, anyone who has red hair will not be pleased by this development.”

“I’m pretty sure that you have Molly wrapped around your finger,” Harry tells him, as he twirls locks of Draco’s blond hair between his fingers. “You should have heard her mothering you while she was writing up your contract.”

“Either way…” Draco murmurs.

Harry has a feeling that Draco is not being truthful about why he is nervous. But maybe that’s just his own insecurities making him imagine things.

“We won’t tell them yet,” he suggests.

Draco pokes Harry’s shoulder. “Can you even keep secrets?”

“Of course I can. I’m half Slytherin, I’ll have you know. That’s why the sorting hat took so long to decide where to put me.”

“Huh,” Draco says with a thoughtful look.

“Not even Ron and Hermione know that, by the way. So there you go.”

Draco smiles a smile that reaches his grey eyes. “That’s nice. I like knowing something about you that they don’t,” he murmurs.

Harry leans in, pressing a kiss to Draco’s forehead, this time. “What else do you want to know?”

-

Harry probably thinks he is being subtle, but he isn’t. Hermione has noticed the way he keeps seeking Draco out with his gaze. It has been a few weeks since she last visited the pub, so she wonders how long things have been like this.

Ron wouldn’t have told her anything. Her husband is hopelessly oblivious.

Hermione is not.

“Are you falling for him?” She asks Harry sharply.

Ron drops a bottle of butterbeer into the sink. Teddy looks up from his drawing, his mouth hanging open as he glances between them.

Harry blinks. “What? No!”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m _not_ falling for him.”

“Good. Don’t,” Ron advises him, carefully picking the shards out of the sink. “He’s not going to stay.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Hermione asks, casting a quick glance at Draco who is outside in front of the pub, shovelling snow. “What has it been – three weeks? What’s his plan?”

Harry gives a mild shrug, evading her eyes. “I don’t know. Not my business. What are you drawing there, Teddy?”

Hermione rolls her eyes at Harry’s blatant attempt to change the subject.

“It’s you, fighting a Chimaera,” Teddy explains, pointing at the different coloured blobs on his paper.

“I’ve never fought a Chimaera.”

“ _Yessss_ but I’ve already drawn everything you’ve done!”

“Right,” Harry mutters, looking chagrined.

“Maybe you’ll fight one this year,” Teddy suggests.

“Not likely. Worst thing I’ll be fighting off this year is a couple of drunks and a few annoying Hogwarts students.”

“I’ll draw that, next,” Teddy promises, seemingly wanting to appease Harry.

“Now, _there’s_ a drawing I’d like to see,” Hermione says.

Draco pops up beside them, putting the snow shovel in the corner and taking off his gloves. Hermione notices a knowing look passing between Draco and Harry and she narrows her eyes.

However, before she can continue her interrogation, Ron pipes up, pointing his thumb at Draco. “Hey Teddy, how about you draw Draco, next?”

Teddy looks up, his gaze assessing Draco with renewed interest. “Do you fight monsters?”

“Hmmm…” Draco ponders, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface of the bar. “How about you draw me as a dragon tamer? I could be riding on the back of a Peruvian vipertooth, chasing a Hungarian horntail?”

Teddy’s eyes light up. “Awesome!” He immediately goes to work.

Draco turns around, to find Harry gaping at him. “What?”

“You’re not a dragon tamer!” Harry says, his tone sounding almost accusatory.

“It’s an eight-year-old making a drawing, Harry,” Draco drawls. “I can be whatever I want to be.”

“Huh,” Harry says, frowning in contemplation as if Draco has just given him the answer to all the mysteries in the universe.


	6. Going home

Harry was right. Apparently, Draco _does_ have Molly wrapped around his finger. “Ohhh hello, sweetie!” She coos, pinching his cheeks. “You look well! Not as pale as last time. What are you doing on your day off this time? Going out to enjoy today’s mayhem?”

It’s the monthly Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students, which means that, in a few hours, the tiny village will be teeming with teenagers.

“I’d rather hole up in my room all day,” Draco says, giving his voice a dramatic edge.

Molly chuckles as she dumps her bag onto the wooden table.

Harry leans against the stove. “I actually thought we might be going into Hogsmeade together this morning,” he proposes. “The Hogwarts weekends are always more fun. Shopkeepers go out of their way to have their stores stocked with the latest stuff, and they make everything look extra nice.”

“You mean like how you made me scrub your grubby windows yesterday?” Draco jibes.

“Trust me, that was unrelated,” Harry assures him. “If anything, I’d prefer to make this place look _more_ unhospitable. Keep those little buggers away. They’ll come anyways. Hogwarts is still a hotbed of Harry-Potter-rumours. I love Hagrid to bits, but I’m pretty sure he’s the main source of them.”

He looks dismayed, and Draco suddenly gets the feeling that Harry could use a distraction before their pub opens up at noon. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go. I’ll get my coat.”

The wrinkles in Harry’s forehead smoothen out. “Nice. It’ll be our first date.”

Draco freezes, mortified, his eyes darting from Harry to Molly and back.

“Oh – shit,” Harry murmurs. “Uuh – I meant…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Molly says with a smile. “I’m getting old, I didn’t hear anything.”

-

“Does the present have to fit the theme?”

“I don’t know,” Harry murmurs as he turns a stuffed Hippogriff over in his hands. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re putting yourself under way too much pressure over the whole thing.”

Harry’s eyes wander to an enormous stuffed dragon, sitting on the shelve. “These are all pretty cool, though.”

“Maybe you can use them for the theme? The kids could play with them.”

Harry looks doubtful. “A bunch of kids playing with stuffed animals?”

“I could hex them so they move around. Make the dragon fly. Then they can actually fight them.”

Harry turns to Draco, feeling impressed. “You can do hexes like that? Those are pretty complicated.”

“I’ve done them a lot,” Draco replies. “Haven’t perfected all of them, but I can just use the easiest ones. Plus, they are stuffed animals, so it’s not like they would do any damage either way.”

“That actually sounds awesome,” Harry says, relief etched into his face. “Teddy will like it, and Andromeda will approve.”

Draco gives a single nod. “I’ll help you.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I know,” Draco replies, lifting his chin with a smirk on his face.

Harry can only smile exasperatedly in response. He steps forward and rests his hand on Draco’s upper arm, before leaning in for a kiss. He feels Draco move his arms up to wrap them around Harry’s waist, and he almost forgets that they are in the middle of a store.

That is, until an unpleasant voice suddenly breaks in. “Well, why am I not surprised?”

Harry feels Draco go absolutely rigid in his arms.

He slowly turns around to see the last person he wanted to see right now. Linus is glaring at them, arms folded across his chest, eyes shooting flames.

Draco grabs onto the back of Harry’s coat and raises a nervous voice. “Linus - What are you doing here?”

“Seeing if you had come to your senses. I was wondering why he hadn’t kicked you out yet, but it makes sense now,” Linus spits. “God, you’ll spread your legs for anyone, won’t you?”

“Get lost, Linus,” Harry bites out.

Linus turns his angry eyes on him. “You know he doesn’t actually like you, right? He’s just using you to get my attention.”

“Dude, you’re obsessed,” Harry firmly responds. “It’s not healthy. Go see a mind healer or something. _Get lost_.”

Linus sends him a fierce glare, but Harry stands his grounds. Finally, Linus huffs, turns on his heels and leaves.

Harry hears Draco blow out a breath behind him with a muttered _fuck_. He turns back to Draco. “He’s gone.”

“He’ll come back,” Draco murmurs. “He always comes back.”

“You need to file a restraining order. No, I’m serious!” Harry insists when Draco scoffs.

“Just let it go, please,” Draco quietly says.

Harry shrugs his consent, before taking Draco’s hand. “Will you tell me one thing, though?”

Draco looks up at him and Harry intently searches his grey eyes. “Did he ever hurt you?”

Draco frowns. “No.”

Harry raises an eyebrow.

“No, Harry, he didn’t,” Draco emphasises. “He’s just paranoid.”

“Do you promise?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes, Harry, I promise.”

-

They go to Dervish and Banges, just so Draco can get his mind off things. Harry keeps firmly holding onto Draco’s hand the whole time, which gives Draco a warm, pleasant feeling.

“Draco – look at this!”

Draco follows Harry’s glance to see a note by the window, announcing that Dervish and Banges is looking for a new employee.

“Wouldn’t it be perfect?” Harry asks. “It’s a quiet store, you won’t be dealing with a lot of pressure, it’s something you’re interested in, you could practise your hexes.”

“Yes,” Draco says, not really sure why his heart is hammering in his chest and his anxiety is spiking at the mere idea of applying for a position.

“Let’s just look around a little,” he pleads. “I don’t want to think about complicated stuff right now.”

“Of course.”

Walking around Dervish and Banges always cheers Draco up a lot, but today even the new collection of magical music boxes can’t distract him from his thoughts. Around noon, they return to the inn. Draco disappears upstairs to read a book he bought. He needs to be alone. He ignores his growling stomach around dinner time, and doesn’t go downstairs until he has heard Harry and Ron close everything down and leave.

-

Harry returns to the inn the next morning with a plan firmly in place. They’ll make a long-term plan, figuring in Draco’s new salary at Dervish and Banges, and the money and time he might need for getting his potions NEWTs. Having everything clearly planned out might give Draco some peace of mind.

Except Draco isn’t downstairs yet, which is unusual. Just like how Draco didn’t come down last night to have some dinner. Harry decides to prepare a cup of coffee for him anyway, humming a tune as he opens and closes the cabinets.

Ron is early, which is also unusual. “So, Draco left, didn’t he?” He says as he barges in. “Mr. Garus from across the street just said he saw a flying car land outside the pub yesterday at night, after we left.”

Harry freezes. “What?”

“Yup. The queen is back in her castle. I’ll put up another sign at the door, shall I?”

-

Linus opens the door and frowns when he finds Harry standing on the doorstep. “Oh. You. What?”

“I’m looking for Draco,” Harry says, calmly but firmly. “Is he here?”

“Yes,” Linus barks out. “As he should be. You know, considering he’s _my_ boyfriend.”

“I don’t think he wants to be,” Harry challenges.

Linus sighs. “Listen, pal, I warned you about him, okay? He's... whimsical. He drags these things out to get my attention. God knows why I even put up with it anymore. I told you he'd come to his senses - well, he did.”

Harry tries a different angle. “Well, he’s still my employee. I was expecting him at work today.”

“That's part of his game, man. You don't believe he still wants to do that shitty work, do you? You'll have to find someone else.” Linus wants to close the door, but Harry slams his hand against it.

“Can I just speak with him for a moment?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Linus growls under his breath. “Merlin’s bollocks… Okay, you nutter, how much do you want to stay the hell away from us?”

Harry is losing his patience. “You can’t _buy_ my silence, you arse!”

Linus snorts. “Look, I understand it's no fun that he's been leading you on, but Draco doesn't want anything to do with you. I guess he realized that playing the victim would really get you going. He used you to get under my skin. I know that sucks, but it's not my fault. You need to get over it.”

“Let me talk to Draco, or I’m calling the Aurors,” Harry says through clenched teeth.

Linus stares. “And tell them _what_? ‘My boyfriend dumped me, arrest him’? I’ll do you one better. How about YOU get the hell out of here, before I call the Aurors about a stalker harassing me in my own home?”

Harry turns on his heel and marches away.

“And don’t come back here!” Linus yells after him, before Harry hears the door slam.

-

“I don’t trust him, Gin. He’s dodgy. I don’t think Draco went with him willingly.”

Ginny looks on as Harry paces around her office. “Do you have any proof for that claim?”

“I just know it.”

“He’s Draco’s ex-boyfriend, Harry! How can you be sure that Draco didn’t just change his mind?”

“I met Linus. I saw them together. Draco’s _afraid_ of him, Gin! And you should hear the way Linus talks to him. The way he manhandles him.”

Ginny lifts an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I watched him pin Draco against a wall, heard him say all kinds of vile shit to him.”

“Hm,” Ginny says, pursing her lips.

“Draco told me Linus is paranoid. And controlling. Yesterday we ran into Linus and he started ranting at Draco _again_. And I’m supposed to believe that they made up later that same evening and Draco decided to go back to his house without even telling me?”

Ginny looks somewhat convinced, but Harry is too impatient to wait any longer. “If you can’t help me, I’m just going down there and hex him in the face and look for Draco myself!”

“We’re not in Hogwarts anymore, Harry,” Ginny reminds him, getting up from behind her desk. “This isn’t the philosopher’s stone or the chamber of secrets. Let me see if I can get a warrant based on your statement.”

Harry impatiently taps his foot against the floor as he waits for Ginny to come back. He didn’t really need the reminder about his Hogwarts adventures. He’s perfectly aware that he’s not doing anything quite as heroic as that anymore, and he’s already feeling bad enough about that as it is.

-

Linus’ fancy car is no longer in the driveway when they arrive back at the house.

Ginny lifts a hand and loudly pounds on the front door, ringing the doorbell, too. “Mr. Malfoy! This is the Auror Department! Open the door, please!” She waits and listens. There is no response from inside.

Ginny turns to Harry. “He might not be home at all, or he might be hiding, or he might be hurt. I’m going to-“

She abruptly stops speaking when they hear Draco’s nervous voice from inside. “Hello?”

Ginny turns back to the door, holding up a hand at Harry to stop him from speaking. “Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“This is Auror Weasley. I need to speak with you for a moment. Open the door, please.”

“I can’t.”

“Mr. Malfoy, I have a warrant for this house, so if you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it down.”

“What?” Draco yelps hoarsely. “I… I really can’t. I don’t have a key and I don’t have my wand.”

Ginny draws her wand. “In that case, I need you to step back, sir. I will gain access to the house.” She turns to Harry. “Harry, I need you to wait from behind the gate while I go in and survey the scene.”

Harry wants to protest, but he also understands that Ginny has protocols to follow. So he gives a short nod and walks back down the path towards the front gate, turning back and leaning against it, crossing his arms.

Ginny gives a nod. She knows Harry doesn’t like being side-lined, so she is grateful that he doesn’t trying to argue with her. She aims her wand at the door, and after a flash of light, the door bursts open and Ginny steps inside.

A hallway with marble floors, a high ceiling and paintings lining the walls. Draco is standing at the other end of the hallway, just quietly staring back at her. Ginny needs only one look at him to know that Harry’s instincts were right, as usual. It is not even the colourful bruise on Draco’s cheek that gives it away, but rather the defeated expression on his face.

“Is there anyone else in the house right now?”

Draco slowly shakes his head.

“Can we sit down somewhere and have a chat, then?”

Draco wordlessly moves through the door into the living room, and Ginny follows. The living room is equally fancy. Ginny has visited more abusive households during her Auror career than she would care to admit. Some of them are complete shitholes, with beer bottles and sometimes even drugs just lying around. Others are spotless. Somehow, those spotless ones always creep her out the most.

Draco has sat down on the couch, hunched. He looks almost catatonic. Ginny carefully seats herself on the coffee table in front of him. “Are you injured anywhere else?” She asks, gesturing at the bruise on his face.

Draco hangs his head as he shakes it.

“What about the leg?”

Draco glances up at her.

“You’re limping,” Ginny elaborates.

Draco presses his lips together and looks down at his hands again.

“Harry asked me to come check up on you,” Ginny calmly explains. “He is waiting outside. He’s worried about you.”

“Okay,” Draco mumbles, wringing his hands together, blinking fast.

“Where is Mr. Linus Burbage?”

“Work.”

“And where is your wand, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco flinches. “Uhm… I don’t know.”

“Is it still in the house, or did Mr. Burbage take it with him?”

“I… I think it’s still in the house, but he hides it.”

Ginny nods. “I’ll find it, later.”

“I didn’t mean to go back with him,” Draco whispers. “I’m not… I don’t know what I was thinking. I just… I don’t know…”

“Can you talk me through what happened last night?”

Draco goes frighteningly still, his hands still clasped together so tightly that his fingers are turning white.

There is a timid knock at the door and Harry leans in. “Sorry,” he says in response to Ginny’s exasperated glance. “I couldn’t wait anymore. Can I… Please?”

Ginny waves him in and Harry shuffles closer, looking at Draco with apprehension as he sits down next to him. “Draco? Are you okay?”

Draco responds by curling closer to Harry, tucking his head underneath Harry’s chin. Harry blinks, and then slowly lowers his arms around Draco, a worried frown on his face.

“I’m s-s-sorry, Harry,” Draco murmurs, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry…”

“What the hell for?”

“I… I didn’t sleep with him. I swear, I didn’t.”

Harry feels his stomach clench. Because he hadn’t even thought about _that_ part. “It’s okay, Draco.”

“I’ll go look for his wand,” Ginny says. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t heal him yet. Need that for legal grounds.”

-

Draco’s wand has been located, his bruises are healed, and the paperwork to get a restraining order has been filed.

“One of our Aurors will be coming over tomorrow to discuss the next steps with you, all right?” Ginny says. “For now, just go home, rest, see a doctor if you need one. I’m going to put the restraining order in place, so if he tries to show up in Hogsmeade again, the Aurors will be alerted immediately. It’ll take a few days to process, so until then, keep an extra eye out.”

“And how will this be made clear to him?” Harry asks grimly.

“I’ll pay Mr. Burbage a little visit at work once everything is in place,” Ginny replies calmly.

Harry feels Draco shudder in his arms.

He stands and gently pulls Draco up from the couch. “I’m going to side-along you back to Hogsmeade, okay? Have you done that before? Because the first time can be unpleasant.”

“I’ve done it,” Draco murmurs, stepping closer to Harry. Harry gives a final grateful nod to Ginny, then gently pulls Draco close to his chest. They twirl on the spot and disappear in a whirlwind of colour. Cold air hits Harry’s lungs as they land right next to the back door to the Hog’s Head. Rain is drizzling down, and Harry quickly leads Draco inside.

Ron is sitting at the large wooden table. He looks up, first at Harry, but his eyes quickly land on Draco. “Came back, huh?”

“I’m going to bed,” is all Draco says, before turning his back on them and moving towards the red door.

Ron lifts his eyebrows. “Harry?”

“Give me a moment,” Harry says. He dives into their supply room and emerges moments later with two bottles of butterbeer. He moves upstairs and leans into Draco’s room. Draco is lying in bed, blankets pulled tightly around himself. He barely acknowledges Harry.

“Hey,” Harry says.

Draco’s voice is barely a whisper. “Hey.”

“Wanna get wasted?” Harry asks, holding out the butter beers.

Draco glances at them. “Prefer firewhiskey,” he then murmurs.

Harry smiles. “Be right back.”

-

Minutes later, they are both sitting on top of the covers and Harry fills up two glasses. Draco immediately downs his glass, and motions for Harry to fill it up again.

"He was being so nice," Draco whispers hoarsely. "And he was talking about all the things he has done for me, and I... I just..."

“He didn't do shit for you,” Harry asks. “Weren't you doing just fine in Italy?”

“Never been in Italy,”

Harry blinks. “That was just a rumour?”

Draco rubs his thumb across the rim of his glass. “I spread that rumour. I told people I was going to some rich, distant uncle in Italy. I didn’t want them to wonder why they never saw me.”

“Where _did_ you go?”

“Where could I go? I had no money, all my family and friends had fled abroad or were in jail, and the whole wizarding world hated me. I just disappeared into muggle London.”

“What? Where did you live?”

Draco shrugs. “Nowhere in particular. I had no money. But having magic helped. For stealing food and stuff. Oh – don’t give me that look, I know you’re not supposed to use magic in the muggle world, but I had _nothing_.”

Harry tries to imagine the seventeen-year-old Draco that he once knew trying to get by on the streets of London with no money. “That must have been…”

“…a bit of a shock to the spoiled Draco Malfoy?” Draco drawls. “Yes, it was. Although, honestly, after living with the Dark Lord for years, it was also a relief.”

Harry frowns down at his glass. “I never told you this, but when I picked your stuff up from Linus, he suggested that you were, uhm… that you worked as a prostitute when he found you.” He glances up to see the colour drain from Draco’s face. He sits up and quickly adds: “It’s okay if you did that work, I understand.”

“I didn’t,” Draco murmurs.

“It’s okay if you did, though.”

“But I didn’t,” Draco insists. “I mean, I did, but I didn’t. It… It was going to be my first job when I met Linus.”

Harry sucks in a breath. “ _Linus_ was your first job?”

“No, no. But it was in his hotel. Someone set it up for me. But once I was in the room with that guy, I chickened out. Told him I didn’t want to do it anymore. Um… he didn’t like that. He got pretty violent. Hotel security got involved, and that’s how Linus got involved. I think he recognized me, though he has always denied that he did. Either way, he took me home. And he really took care of me. He was so nice…” Draco’s voice falters and he blinks a few times.

“And you were how old at that point?”

Draco purses his lips as he grabs the whiskey bottle to fill his glass up again. “Nineteen.”

Harry pauses for a moment, then leans forward. “I hope you realize that he never exactly had the best intentions.”

Draco frowns at him. “You don’t know that.”

“Taking you home when you were half his age? Barely legal?”

“What do you suggest, he should have called the DMLE on me? Or those muggle coppers? Had plenty of experience with _them_ by the way.”

“I’m not saying that, I just…” Harry sighs. “I just think he saw an opportunity to take advantage of your position. And maybe he _did_ think you were gorgeous - because who wouldn't - but I don't think it was in a 'let's be partners in an equal relationship' kind of way.”

“Can we change the subject, now?” Draco mutters.

Harry soldiers on, though, because he needs Draco to hear this. “I want you realize that he never did anything for you. It was all for himself.”

“Well, it feels more like you're rubbing it in how stupid I've been this whole time for ever trusting him,” Draco snaps.

Harry blinks. “I don’t… That’s not what I…” he falters for a moment. “Sorry. I don't think you're stupid at all. How could I? You're one of the smartest people I know. Just... your life took a bad turn. He took advantage of it. I don't want you to feel like you owe him anything.”

“Can we drop it?” Draco snarls, his hands clenched tightly around his glass.

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. Can I say one more thing, though?”

Draco doesn’t respond anymore, so Harry just ploughs ahead. “I'm worried what might happen if Linus comes in here when I’m not working, so I think... I think we need to tell Ron that he's not allowed to come near you.”

No response from Draco, but he is still frowning deeply.

“We don’t need to go into details,” Harry tries. “Simply that he’s not welcome here.”

“Fine,” Draco replies. His whole body screams resentment by now, as if he wants nothing more than to be away from Harry.

Harry nods. “Okay, then I’ll let him know when we-“

Draco snaps his head up and gives him a fierce glare. “I can tell him myself, I’m not an invalid!”

Harry nods calmly. “Sorry. Of course.”

A short silence fills the room. Then, Draco seems to deflate. He slides over to Harry’s side of the bed and leans his head against Harry’s chest. Harry feels his stomach flutter, and carefully puts an arm around Draco, slowly rubbing circles on his back.

“Don’t be mad at me, okay?” Draco asks, his voice now small. “I’m just…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“… I just really hate myself right now.”

“Well, I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you at all. I… I like you.” Harry admits.

He can hear Draco laugh quietly; the sound muffled. “A heart-warming admission,” Draco drawls, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. “Well… I guess it would be… It would be nice if you'll tell Ron for me. If you still want to.”

“Of course.”

-

“I’m sorry, remind me,” Ron says, leaning back in his chair. “Weren’t you the one who kept telling him to make things right with Linus?”

“Well, yes,” Harry admits, slowly pacing around the backroom. “But that was before I…” He falters.

“Before you fell in love with him,” Ron finishes his sentence.

“No,” Harry protests. “Before I knew what an arse Linus was.”

Ron looks sceptical.

Harry takes a deep breath. “Listen. We have a restraining order against Linus, all right? Except we need to keep an eye out, because we have to wait for the Wizengamot to approve the restraining order. And there's a reason why we have it. And that reason is that Linus is an arse. So if you see him around, blow him off and warn me, OK?”

Ron just stares at him. “So, what, he’s violent?” He finally asks.

Harry purses his lips. “Yes.”

“Merlin’s bollocks!” Ron swears. “I knew it! I knew there was something fishy about them. And you couldn't have very well told me about this earlier? I could have done something to help…”

The fact that he seems to care so much is surprising. Harry smiles a little. Then he shrugs. “I didn't know before. Not for sure, anyway. I do now, and it’s never going to happen again.”

-

The inn is a little busier than usual that afternoon, and Harry and Ron have their hands full. Taking his chance, Draco knocks on the door to the tiny office and pokes his head in. “Molly? I thought I’d bring you a cup of tea. And I need a quick word.”

Molly looks up from the paperwork. “Ah - Thank you. Sit down, I've been meaning to talk to you, too.”

That certainly doesn’t calm Draco’s nerves. But he obliges and firmly closes the door behind him before handing Molly the cup of tea and taking a seat. Molly sips her tea for a moment, eyeing Draco sharply. “So what exactly are your plans with Harry?”

Draco feels at a loss for words. “Plans…” he echoes.

“Yes,” Molly says, carefully placing her teacup down on the saucer. “The way I understand it, you were back with your ex yesterday. And now you're here again.”

Draco gives a nervous smile and looks down at his knees. “I don’t know. What do you think his plans are with me?”

“I think he is in love with you,” Molly says frankly.

Draco’s stomach flutters, and he can’t help a stupid grin from spreading across his face. “Yeah, he mentioned something along those lines.”

“What about you?” Molly continues.

“Don’t you think it’s between me and him?”

“No,” Molly replies evenly. “Harry is a son to me. And I think it's a mother's job to make sure her son doesn't get hurt. Especially when the son in question can be a tad foolish in the love department.”

“Hurt,” Draco repeats. “Him getting hurt. By me.”

“Correct.”

Draco would never have imagined that Molly could be worried about this. He’s been feeling like such a charity case for so long that it never occurred to him that others might not see him in that same light. And for some strange reason, it makes him feel a little better that Molly Weasley actually thinks of him as someone who might pose a threat, rather than some dependant street dog who simply latched onto the first person who was willing to feed him. “I’m… I’m not going to hurt him.”

“Then why were you back with your ex just last night?”

“I wasn't 'back with him'. I only... I went to get all my stuff. And break things off. Permanently.”

“And stay the night,” Molly shrewdly adds.

Draco closes his mouth and looks down again.

“And you didn't come into work this morning,” Molly continues. “And then Harry apparated over there and apparently convinced you to come back.”

“I’m not going to hurt Harry,” Draco says calmly. Molly scrutinizes him for a while, but this time Draco holds her gaze.

“We’ll see, then,” Molly finally says, frostily. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Draco clears his throat. “My wallet was stolen yesterday. So some Aurors might come in today or tomorrow, asking for me.

“All right,” Molly says.

“That's all. Just didn't want you to wonder.”

“Understood.”

Draco nods, not sure how to handle the cool atmosphere in the room. After another beat of silence, he gets up. “Right then. I'll get back to work.”

He leaves the room. Once he has closed the door behind him, he releases a long breath. That was hell. Molly has been so kind to him. He hates the idea of her not trusting him. Frustrated with himself, he slowly paces the backroom for a while. Maybe he should simply tell her. After all, Ron knows, Ginny knows, and Draco isn’t sure either way if he can trust those two to keep their mouths shut. He might as well get it out of the way.

So he knocks again and waits for Molly’s “Yes?”

Draco opens the door. Molly lifts her eyebrows at him, but Draco doesn’t explain himself yet. He closes the door behind him and sits back down in the same chair, before taking a deep breath. “All right, here's the deal. My wallet didn't get stolen. The reason the Aurors are coming over is because I have had a lot of problems with my ex. He was violent. And controlling. That's why I tried to leave him, but he kept coming after me, trying to drag me back home. Yesterday, I was stupid enough to go with him. When Harry heard, he got the Aurors involved. Your daughter, actually, who came over and broke down the door to get me out. I'm currently getting a restraining order against him, so he can't come after me again.”

Molly stares, letting the news sink in for a moment, then frowns. “And Harry has known you were in an abusive relationship for _how long_ exactly?” She asks, sounding ominous.

The question takes Draco by surprise. “Oh - uhm. I guess he wasn't sure until today. It's not like I told him. But he knew Linus was pretty crazy, I think. I think he suspected something because he... he did ask me a few days ago, if Linus ever hurt me. But I told him 'no'.” He can't look Molly in the eye at those final words.

“Oh, honey...” Molly murmurs, before suddenly pulling Draco into a firm embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

Draco closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. A feeling of reassurance and relief fills him up and brings tears to his eyes as he melts into the embrace. Even his own mother never hugged him like this.

He is home.


	7. Failing

Draco carefully moves his wand to chip little more wood away. His carving is almost perfect, and this is always the point where he needs to watch out not to take it too far. You can take wood off, but not put it back on. He blows on his fingers to keep them warm. These wand motions are very specific, and numb fingers don’t help. He always chooses the same spot on the threshold of the backdoor to do this, so he can still get some warmth from inside, but doesn’t make a mess on the floor.

“You’re the trash-beaver!”

Draco looks up to see Harry standing in front of him, staring back at him with his mouth gaping. “Excuse me?” He sputters.

“The woodchips! They are coming from you!”

Draco clenches his fist around his wooden figuring, glancing down at his feet and the tiny woodchips scattered around them. “What – do they bother you?”

Harry huffs. “Of course not. I only wondered. What are you doing?”

“Just… a little woodworking.”

Harry kneels next to him. “Can I see?”

Draco opens his fist. A wooden mermaid lies in the palm of his hand.

“I’m still trying to get the spells right so that it will move,” Draco murmurs. “That is to say – the problem is not making them move, but finetuning the spells in such a way that they won’t move _too_ much. No one wants a wooden figurine that just takes off after you’ve bought it.”

“It’s amazing,” Harry murmurs, carefully plucking the figurine from Draco’s hand and studying it closer. “And you were _made_ for that job at Dervish and Bangs. Missis Planxty would be over the moon with this talent in her store.”

Draco presses his lips together, snatching the wooden mermaid from Harry’s hands.

“What?” Harry asks.

Draco shrugs. “I’m just… I don’t know about the whole job thing.”

“A new job is always scary,” Harry says. “But this one has you written all over it. So, don’t worry, and just go to the interview.”

Draco takes a controlled breath in and out. Maybe the job _is_ made for him. But what if it’s made for him, and he still doesn’t get it? What would that say about him? Where would that leave him? Would that just be condemning proof that he’ll never be able to achieve anything?

“I’ll think about it,” he mutters.

-

Two Aurors come in that afternoon. Draco is relieved to see that Ginny is one of them. Harry ushers them into the backroom and offers them tea, fussing around like a worried parent. The Aurors are both a picture of professionalism as they calmly talk Draco through the measures being taken. The restraining order is now officially in place, and the Aurors will be notified automatically if Linus breaks it.

Once everything has been discussed, the other Auror leaves. Ginny stays. “I have to do my rounds around here, anyways,” she says, leaning back and putting her feet up on the chair next to her.

“Is Hogsmeade your district or something?” Draco asks, curiously.

“Yup. Ministry attempt to combat illicit trade around here. And they like to pretend their policies are extremely successful, but if you ask me, it has more to do with Harry buying the Hog’s Head. Because this place used to be a hotbed of contraband.”

Draco remembers how Hogwarts students had always been explicitly warned by their teachers to stay away from this pub. Which, of course, made most of them want to go here even more.

“Hermione tells me you have a nice job opportunity at Darvish and Bangs?”

“Hermione told you…” Draco echoes, wondering just how often his name comes up in the Potter-Weasley-Granger grapevine for _her_ to know that specific bit of information. “I mean – yeah,” he says. “But I don’t think I’ll go.”

“Why not?”

Draco shrugs. “I’d rather not do it at all than try to do it and mess it up.”

“I’m not surprised...” Ginny declares.

Draco raises his eyebrows.

“If your parents raised you with the belief your professional success defines you, and then you spend five years in a relationship where you’re being told that you’re too dumb to do anything… That seems like a destructive combination. Not at all surprising if you’re crippled by performance anxiety.”

Draco splutters. _Crippled by…_ “Excuse me very much?”

Ginny smiles at him. “Tough love, honey.”

“That’s not tough love. That’s just you being an arse.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Same difference, Weaslette.”

“What makes you think you’ll mess it up?”

“Because I’m… I’m nothing. Look at me.”

Ginny casually waves a hand. “Nah. You’re not nothing. You’re just another person. You seem to be raised with a mindset where you always have to be relentlessly self-improving. You think you are only as good as your personal achievements. Whoever made you believe that, they were wrong. All you have to do to be a good person, is do kind things for other people. That’s it. Nothing else. everything else is just a bonus. You don’t have to land this job. And if you do land it, you don’t have to be good at it. You can always move on to something else. Because if there’s one thing you’ve proven, it’s that you’re a tough guy who won’t give up. You’ve gotten yourself out of a bad situation plenty times before, haven’t you?”

“ _You_ rescued me.”

Ginny shakes her head. “You weren’t rescued. You rescued yourself. When you saw a way out, you took it. And that way out was a shitty job in a shitty pub. You left Linus when you had literally nowhere else to go. Don’t you understand how fucking brave that is?”

“Brave…” Draco slowly murmurs.

“Listen. Just… Just look at this job interview as an experiment. Go in unprepared. Go in drunk, for all I care. See what happens.”

“Now you’re telling me to mess up my job interview?”

“Sure,” says Ginny with a shrug. “It’s like exposure therapy. You’re afraid of failure. So, go in there, fail on purpose. You’ll see that the world doesn’t end.”

-

“Have a seat,” Molly says, pointing. “This might take a moment.”

“Oh no,” Harry says, taking in her grim expression. “Are we going bankrupt or something?” It wasn’t often that Molly called Harry into the office. Usually, she was happy to discuss things in the backroom, with Ron, sometimes Hermione and now Draco, listening in.

“No. In fact, this month you have been turning a slight profit for the first time. I think your salads might be helping with that.”

“Draco’s salads,” Harry corrects.

“Right. Draco.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Is this about him?”

“I know I am supposed to pretend to be an old woman who doesn’t hear anything going on around here but – you and he are in a relationship, yes?”

Harry lets out an uncomfortable laugh, shifting in his seat. “We… Uh… I mean, I don’t know. Relationship is a big word.”

“But you’re in love with him.”

“Yes,” Harry admits.

“And he is in love with you.”

“I hope so,” Harry murmurs. “Is that not good?”

“I must admit I’m worried.”

“Why?”

Molly folds her hands together. “In the only relationship he ever had before you, he was trapped because he had nowhere else to go. And now, he depends completely on you for food, for a job, for a place to live. I’m just worried that he might feel pressured into doing things he is not ready to do.”

Harry thinks back to the anxious expression on Draco’s face the first time they kissed and presses his lips together. He had already been wondering if Draco should be in a relationship _at all_ right now. He hadn’t even considered how unhealthy the power dynamic in their relationship would be. He’d like to think that Draco would be comfortable telling Harry to fuck off if Harry ever crossed a line. But would he, honestly?

He looks up when he feels Molly’s hand squeezing his knee. She gives a small smile. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t date him. I’m just wondering if you’re in a place right now where you could discuss this with him?”

-

After Ron leaves that evening, Harry and Draco have tea together, as they do almost every night by now. Draco notices that Harry is quiet, this evening, broodily staring into his cup. “What are you thinking about?” He asks.

The silence lasts a little longer.

“I really like you,” Harry says. “But…”

 _But_.

Draco knows what that word means. A feeling of dread immediately pools in the pit of his stomach and he feels his throat closing up. So that’s it. This is where it ends. And if they break up, he can’t work here, he can’t live here – and then what? Back to Linus? Not in a million years. He’d rather go live on the streets again.

“Don’t panic,” Harry murmurs, reaching out a hand and laying it on Draco’s arm. “I just worry that we might be going too fast, and end up doing things you don’t want to do.”

“You can do anything,” Draco says with a frown. “I don’t mind.”

“You don’t _mind_ ,” Harry repeats, his tone flat.

“Yeah…”

“That doesn’t sound like you actually want it.”

Draco rolls his eyes, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s lips, carding one of his hands through the messy, black hair. “Does _this_ feel like I actually want it?” He murmurs after they break away.

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “I just worry that you feel… that I…. that this isn’t….” Harry sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair before dropping the hand down, on top of Draco’s. “Merlin, I suck at this. I just mean… I mean… It’s just… sometimes when I’m kissing you, I get a sense that you’re nervous.”

“I _am_ nervous,” Draco admits. “I know that you are not the same as Linus. But it’s just these instinctive feelings of dread that I can’t help. It’s… I don’t know… I suppose I do find it a little scary to be in a relationship. But I want to get past that. And I think the way to get past that is by just _being_ in a relationship. With someone I trust. Does that make sense?”

Harry slowly rubs the back of Draco’s hand with his thumb as he considers Draco’s words. “Yeah, it does make sense,” he says. “But maybe you shouldn’t be in a relationship with the person who is also simultaneously your boss _and_ your landlord.”

“Well, it’s not like I can pick and choose,” Draco drawls. “I don’t want to quit the job. And I also wasn’t planning on wandering around Hogsmeade looking for a random bloke to shag.”

“I’m not suggesting that. I’m suggesting that maybe… we hold off on this relationship for a while, until you’re standing on your own two feet.”

Draco sits back, crossing his arm and giving Harry a puzzled look. “I’m a big boy, Harry,” he says. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me.”

“I’m not saying it for you,” Harry says. “That is – I’m not… _just_ saying it for you. This is about me, too. I don’t want to constantly feel like I might be crossing a line without wanting to. I don’t know. It’s a horrible, complicated mess.”

“You’re not crossing any lines.”

“You panicked when we started this conversation,” Harry points out. “What was that about?”

Draco hesitates. “I was just worried that if we break up, I’d have to leave,” he admits softly.

“Right,” Harry says. “That’s what I mean, isn’t it? I don’t want you to feel like your entire living situation hinges on whether or not our relationship goes well.”

Draco frowns at his teacup, not really able to figure out why he is feeling so frustrated. “I think I’ll be going to bed now,” he says, a little stiffly, picking up his teacup.

“Draco…” Harry pleads.

“I need to think about this, all right? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry looks reluctant, but he nods. “All right. We can talk more tomorrow.”

-

They don’t get around to much talking the next morning, however. Draco is quiet and moody, and seems to avoid being alone with Harry at all cost.

“What happened, was your favourite shampoo-line discontinued or something?” Ron jibes.

“Shut up, Weasley,” Draco snaps. Ron throws up his hands and leaves the backroom, muttering something under his breath.

That just leaves Harry and Draco sitting across from each other in the backroom.

“Draco?”

No reaction.

“Teddy’s birthday is this Saturday. So – uh – the whole flying stuffed animals thing. Are we still on for that?”

Draco nods, silently.

“Look, I get that you’re a little pissed off right now, but I need to-“

“I’ll help you with the party, Harry,” Draco breaks in, sounding tired. “I’m not angry at you. I’m mostly angry at myself, all right? Because you were right.”

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling relieved. Because right up to this point, he had been going back and forth on that himself. “Okay – so, uh, that means… what does that mean?”

“Means I won’t be going around snogging you. Not until I have my own crap sorted out. So let’s focus on this party. What do you need?”

“I’m not sure. I think we have the ‘monsters’ part down, with the stuffed animals flying around. I’ve ordered a cake shaped like a dragon. I don’t know how to make it all come together.”

“We can start the party by having them make weapons from carboard,” Draco suggests. “So they can go around whacking at ‘em. And we can fill up the stuffed animals with candy or little presents, so they’ll be like flying piñatas. Of course, you’re their big example of a ‘hero’, so you can teach them some nice moves. And after their ‘fight’ they’ll be hungry, so we can sit down for cake. Maybe tell them the story of how you defeated the basilisk as they eat.”

Harry winces, now. “I’m not a hero.”

“Keep saying that,” Draco drawls.

Harry looks disgruntled. “I’m _not._ And Hagrid will probably give me a long lecture about encouraging kids to ‘whack’ dragons out of the air.”

“Next year we’lll throw them a completely PC birthday party,” Draco suggests with a smirk. “Something about animal rights, gender equality and third world countries. Sound good?”

Harry now looks up at him with a smile, his eyes suddenly gleaming, and Draco suddenly realizes how casually he had assumed that they would still both be here next year.

-

Dobby comes by on Friday, the same day that Dervish and Banges is interviewing for the job.

“Dobby will take you, Master Malfoy!” Dobby immediately proclaims as soon as he gets wind of it. “Dobby will tell the lady there is no one greater than you except maybe the great and noble Harry Potter.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” Draco says while Ron snorts and Harry turns red. “It would be nice if we walk together. But – ah – you really don’t have to come in there with me.”

“Dobby will walk you there and stay outside by the door even if his ears freeze off!” Dobby promises.

“That won’t be necessary either…” Draco mumbles as he puts on his jacket. “Let’s just go.”

Dervish and Banges is still closed when they get there. Mrs. Planxty leads Draco into a small office in the back, telling Dobby he can look around the store, “but if you break it, you bought it!”

Draco sits down on a raggedy chair.

Mrs. Planxty takes out some rolls of parchment and dips her quill into the inkpot. “Why are you applying for this job, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Well, you see,” says Draco. “I’m currently working a job at the Hog’s Head, and I’m madly in love with the owner, but he won’t date me as long as he is my boss.”

Mrs. Planxty blinks at him, still holding the quill up in the air.

“I have no experience,” Draco continues. “And when I say that, I’m not just referring to the field of sales. I have no experience in _any_ field. Passed my OWLs, but didn’t go up for my NEWTs. Oh – and my whole family is in Azkaban for being war criminals.”

“Your family history is of no importance here, Mr. Malfoy,” Mrs. Planxty curtly informs him.

“Of course it is,” Draco replies. “It’s of importance everywhere.”

A short silence fills the air while Mrs. Planxty squints at him.

“Well, that will be all, then,” she finally says, folding her papers together. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Malfoy. You’ll hear my final decision tomorrow.”

-

Dobby walks back to the inn with him. Draco is feeling strangely giddy and can’t stop grinning. Because, yeah, he won’t be getting this job. But he doesn’t care. Ginny was right. Failing on purpose is kind of a relief, and maybe now he can finally start trying to think about what he wants to do with his life without worrying about everything that could go wrong.

And then they turn a corner and Draco catches sight of Linus, standing on the road, next to his car. He isn’t looking towards Draco, but instead leers in the direction of the Hog’s Head down the road. He is half-hiding behind a tree, as if that giant car wouldn’t give him away either way.

Draco clenches his fists tightly. He could take a detour, go into the inn and just wait for the Aurors to show up. But the fact that Linus dares to show his face here after the restraining order has _just_ been issued, makes him suddenly feel white-hot with anger.

“Hey!” He bites out, marching up to Linus as Dobby quickly scurries after him.

Linus turns, and relief floods his face. “Draco, there you are! I can’t believe those guys those bust into my place and took you. Listen, we need to work together to get them-”

“You’re not allowed to be within one hundred feet of me,” Draco points out, interrupting him. “So I hope you realize the Aurors will be here soon.”

Linus’ face falls, his expression shifting so rapidly from hope to rage that it almost makes Draco step back. But he doesn’t. “Oh, so you’re on board with them, are you?” Linus hisses. “Do they know all about your shifty past, or shall I tell them?”

“Actually, Harry knows more than you do,” Draco coolly informs him, and Linus turns red.

“Master Malfoy, just say the word and Dobby will take care of him,” Dobby says, already holding up his hands and waving his fingers around.

“Tell that elf to stop threatening me,” Linus bites out, taking a menacing step forward.

Draco crosses his arms. “Kick his ass, Dobby.”

Dobby snaps his fingers. There is a loud bang, and Linus is thrown backwards, crashing into his own car and then sliding to the ground. “FUCK!” He screams, clutching his left arm.

“You shall go now!” Dobby commands, lifting a single long finger at Linus. “You shall not touch Draco Malfoy!”

A slight pop to Draco’s left, and Ginny appears, her wand in hand, whipping her head left to right as she surveys the scene. Her eyes land on Linus. “Huh,” she says, lowering her wand. She looks Draco up and down. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Breaking your restraining order in the first week!” Ginny says, sauntering up to Linus who pushes himself into a seated position. “That means jailtime, my friend!”

“That elf attacked me!” Linus roars, pointing at Dobby.

“Really? I didn’t see anything,” Ginny drawls.

“Your whole department is corrupt!” Linus howls as Ginny pulls him to his feet.

“File a complaint, then,” Ginny shoots back. She turns back to Draco. “I’ll come by the inn later to take your statement.”

Draco nods. “Thank you.”

Another pop, and Ginny is gone.

Linus is gone. Finally.


	8. My hero

That evening finds Harry and Draco sitting cross-legged on the floor in the backroom, making decorations for Teddy’s birthday. Draco is folding dragons out of paper, and Harry connects them together with string.

“You are good at _everything_ ,” Harry says, feeling somewhat dismayed as he turns one of the paper dragons over in his hands.

“Only at useless stuff,” Draco replies, dismissively.

“You’re kidding, right?” Harry questions quietly, looking between Draco’s grey eyes. “You are literally one of the most talented persons I’ve ever known. You excel in _every_ area. You are smart, you’re a good flyer, you’re creative, you cook… You’re a much better person than I am.”

“Now _you’re_ kidding, right? You’re… You’re Harry Potter! You’re a powerful wizard, you can chase off a Dementor, you can stun a giant…”

“Yeah, and those skills come in super handy when owning a little pub in the corner of Hogsmeade,” Harry says bitterly as he spears another paper dragon with a string.

“You bought this pub because you _chose_ to. Not because you had no other options. I’m scrubbing your floors because that’s all I can do.”

Harry scoffs. “No, it’s not. You can do anything. You just need to give yourself time. You’ll do amazing things. But me… any job where I actually contribute to society gives me major anxiety. I should have been an Auror, but…”

Draco frowns. “You already contribute to society.”

“Yeah? By serving butterbeer and onion soup?” Harry sighs. “The press used to be all over me, but in the last few years they have gotten bored with me, with my new life. Which is basically exactly what I wanted, but at the same time it makes me feel guilty that I’m not being useful.”

“Just because you’re not saving all of mankind at once doesn’t mean you’re not useful. Whoever made you believe that you were responsible for the fate of the wizarding world; they were wrong. They shouldn’t have put that kind of pressure on you. It’s not fair. You were just a kid.”

“There was a prophecy…”

“I don’t care. That doesn’t mean that everything wrong with the world is on you. You don’t have to save all of mankind to be a good person. All you have to do to be a good person, is do kind things for other people. That’s it. Nothing else. And you’re so kind, Harry. You’re so damn kind…”

Draco reaches out to card his tender fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“You’re already a hero just by being you, Harry,” Draco whispers, his voice suddenly coming from much closer by.

Harry opens his eyes again to see Draco’s face hovering only a few inches from his.

“Draco…” he breathes.

“Don’t worry, scar-head, I won’t kiss you.”

Harry’s lips curl up into a smile. “You snarky git.”

Draco smiles, too. “You’re choosing to do what _you_ want to do. That’s something to be proud of. Take it from someone who has spend about his whole life just doing what _others_ wanted him to do. And when Teddy calls you a hero, be proud of everything you’ve done. That doesn’t mean you still have to be doing those things, now. Just try to be a little nicer to yourself, all right?”

“I’ll try,” Harry promises. “If you do the same.”

-

The next morning, Harry steps into the backroom to find a note on the table.

_Have some business this morning. Will be back in time for Party! -D_

“You’d _better_ be back in time,” Harry says out loud into the empty room. Why did Draco have to have ‘business’ on this exact day? The most important day of the year? The day of Teddy’s birthday party?

The Hog’s Head will be closed today, in anticipation of Teddy’s party that afternoon. Ron and Hermione will be here any minute. Harry asked them to pick up the cake on their way here. He and Draco took care of the decorations last night. Harry just needs Draco’s help with performing the right hexes on his collection of stuffed animals, making them fly or run around so the kids can chase them, later.

“Morning,” Ron calls out as he enters, carrying a flat box that must contain the cake. “How are you, mate? Having a meltdown yet?”

“Draco’s chosen THIS exact morning to go galivanting around the village!” Harry huffs, waving the note around.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then,” Ron says, stepping aside to let Hermione pass.

She hugs Harry. “Don’t worry Harry, we’re here! What can we do?”

“Uh,” Harry says. “Nothing really. Everything is pretty much set to go.”

“Right,” she says with a small smile. “How dare Draco abandon you when you’re drowning in all this work!”

“Haha…” Harry intones joylessly. “It’s fine. I’m happy that he has stuff to do. I just feel protective, I suppose.”

“I get that,” Hermione murmurs. “But Linus is gone. And Draco can take care of himself. How about I set out some plates? Push some tables together?”

“Sure.”

-

Since there really isn’t much to do anymore, Ron and Hermione simply help Harry by giving the whole pub a good cleaning; scrubbing the floors, cleaning out the fire place and just generally making the place more kid-friendly.

Harry is relieved when, around eleven o’clock, he catches a wisp of Draco’s blond hair passing by one of the windows.

Draco steps inside through the front door, holding a bouquet of flowers. “Hey,” he says, his eyes wandering around the pub. “Did you miss me?”

“Damn right I did! Where were you?”

Draco turns to him, then lifts the bouquet. “Lilies were your favourite, right?”

“You got me flowers?”

“I got a job,” Draco says.

Harry sucks in an excited breath, walking up to him. “At Dervish and Banges?”

“Merlin, no,” Draco says. “Butchered _that_ interview. But Minerva owled me yesterday evening after you left. I got an apprenticeship at Hogwarts, with Poppy Pomfrey. Just went over there today to sort things out.”

Harry feels a wide grin spread across his face. He reaches out and wraps his arms around Draco, pulling him close. “You get a job and I get flowers?” He murmurs into Draco’s ear.

Draco releases him and gives a coy smile, holding the bouquet out to him. “Well, you see, now that things aren’t, uh, a ‘horrible complicated mess’ between us anymore... Maybe you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

Harry’s heart soars. He steps forward and wraps one arm around Draco’s waist, leaning in for a kiss. He can hear Ron whistling between his teeth behind him, but he doesn’t care. And evidently, neither does Draco, because he just deepens the kiss, bringing up his hands, running them through Harry’s hair, and Harry feels it right down to his toes.

“All riiiiiight,” Ron shouts out after a few seconds. “Very happy for you and all, but we have a party to prepare!”

“Sod off, Weasley,” Draco murmurs against Harry’s lips and Harry chuckles.

-

The inn is a mess. Torn apart stuffed animals are lying everywhere, their stuffing covering almost every surface like a thin layer of winter snow. It’s like a murder scene. Draco is lying on the floor in the middle of it, exhausted from running around with cardboard swords all afternoon.

The children are tucking into the pie as if they have been starved for days. Everywhere Draco looks, he sees faces smeared with chocolate and whipped cream. Molly and Andromeda are sitting in a corner, having tea and chatting while they leave the child-herding to the others. Teddy is sitting right next to Harry by the fireplace, red colour still high on his cheeks, his eyes glittering.

Draco looks up when a shadow falls over him. Ginny holds out a hand to help him up. “Congratulations on the job,” she says.

“Thanks,” Draco says, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “It wouldn’t have happened without your advice. I mean – I’m still terrified, but at least I went.”

“It’s an apprenticeship,” Ginny says. “Not as much pressure – they’re not expecting you to know everything from the get-go.”

“That’s what Minerva said,” Draco murmurs. “I’m just going to try. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll try something else.”

“Good man,” Ginny tells him. “And I’m sure that it helps that you’ll be living close to Hogsmeade?”

Draco smiles, his gaze seeking out Harry, who is now sitting right in the middle of a lively group of nine year-olds. He is telling them a story; a wide smile in place, his hands gesturing animatedly. “Yes,” he agrees. “That is certainly a major perk.”

Ginny grins.

The two of them move closer to fireplace. Draco now notices that Harry is telling the kids about his third year, when he set the hippogriff free.

Of course he would pick that bloody hippogriff as a topic. The time he _saved_ a monster, rather than fought one. Because that hippogriff _was_ a damn monster and no one is going to convince Draco otherwise. But he still listens with rapt attention as Harry goes into the details of how he thwarted the ministry – gallantly leaving Lucius’ name out of it – and escaped a werewolf with Buckbeak’s help.

“You are a hero, right?” Teddy asks.

“Of course I am. Everybody is a hero,” Harry replies, looking over Teddy’s head at Draco and smiling at him. “Everybody who does nice things for other people. Do you do nice things for people?”

Teddy thinks about that for a moment. “I help grandma with the groceries,” he suggests.

“There you go. You’re a hero, too.”

“Cool,” Teddy says, looking satisfied.

-

Harry is humming a tune as he does the dishes. Draco hasn’t seen him in such a good mood in weeks. With the stress of planning a party finally behind him, and with the relief of said party being a big success.

Draco sneaks up behind Harry, wrapping his arms around his waist, and Harry almost drops his wand. “Draco! You startled me.”

“My hero,” Draco murmurs.

Harry chuckles, lifting one soapy hand to squeeze Draco’s fingers. “And you’re mine. Couldn’t have done this without you.”

Draco doesn’t even know how to answer that. Because he couldn’t have done this, _any_ of this, without Harry. Everything that is going well in his life right now, is all thanks to Harry extending an olive branch when Draco first stepped foot into this inn.

And so he just says: “I love you.”

Harry lets the plates slide back into the sink and slowly turns around so he and Draco are chest to chest. There is a soft smile on his face. “I love you,” he assures Draco, leaning in for another soft kiss. “So. Where are you going to take me on our date?”

Draco considers his options for a moment. “We could go flying?”

He knows he has made the right suggestion when Harry’s eyes light up. “I haven’t gone flying in a few months,” Harry admits.

“Psssht. I haven’t gone flying in _years_ Potter, you’ll have to show me the ropes. Make sure I don’t plummet to my death and all.”

“Right,” Harry says with a dry chuckle. “Just don’t do anything stupid while we’re up there, okay?”

Draco smiles, losing himself in Harry’s green eyes. “Scared, Potter?”

Those green eyes begin to sparkle mischievously. “You wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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